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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26662063">a better man than me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKnittingJedi/pseuds/TheKnittingJedi'>TheKnittingJedi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Critical Role (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scenes, POV Essek Thelyss, Tags will be updated, Whump, a conflicted man comes to terms with the awful things he's done, canon divergent from episode 97, redemption arc, things get worse before they get better, this is basically essek's story arc from his perspective, what do you mean projecting on the neutral evil wizard is a bad thing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:34:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>27,778</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26662063</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKnittingJedi/pseuds/TheKnittingJedi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Essek doesn't care about anyone, until he does.</p><p>What happens after you betray the only friends you've ever had and unexpectedly develop a conscience? You try to make amends and move forward in a world that, unsurprisingly, wants you dead.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>276</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is 100% me trying to process episodes 91 and 97, in the most self-indulgent way possible.</p><p>Title from Mark Knopfler's <i>Drover's Road</i>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Essek is the loneliest person he knows.</p><p>Not that he minds. He has cultivated the solitude around him for a reason, nourishing the preexisting emptiness, nudging the circumstances, secluding himself in a literal tower.</p><p>After all, it’s easier to move in the shadows when nobody’s looking at you. And he’s not the Shadowhand by chance.</p><p>When he’s charged with the seven rowdy adventurers that call themselves the Mighty Nein, he accepts the task with more than a little distaste. Not that he has any choice, both because one does not say no to the Bright Queen — not if you’re playing an ambitious game of political chess with your life on the line — and because these Mighty Nein are, after all, heroes of the Dynasty.</p><p>Besides, he has more than a little skin in the game. Not that anyone needs to know.</p><p>The assignment is not without prestige. And yet, as he leaves them in their new abode to settle in and he returns to his tower to scry on them, he can’t help but feel like he’s been given the short end of a particularly ugly stick.</p><hr/><p>Well, he was wrong. On a number of counts.</p><p>His fear that these adventurers had an ulterior motive in bringing back the Beacon is finally disproved when, after several interactions and hours of fruitless observation, it becomes clear that they’re not a threat. Some of them are cunning, yes, but their intentions are so transparent that Essek can’t help but feel like a glorified babysitter.</p><p>When the spell ends, he leans back on his chair with a sigh. The room is dark, and while he was scrying it started to rain. The soft patter of droplets on the many windows of his laboratory offers a quiet background to his thoughts.</p><p>There’s another thing he got wrong, and it concerns the wizard.</p><p>Essek may not be a people’s person, but one doesn’t climb so many rungs of power in so little time by being unobservant. And he had so little doubt that Caleb Widogast, educated at the Soltryce Academy by the very people Essek is in contact with, had a hidden agenda behind his quiet, unassuming exterior that it was just a given.</p><p>But, as he watches him, and watches him, and watches him, he isn’t so sure anymore.</p><p>Oh, the man is clever, even unexpectedly so, for a human, and one so young. And he keeps his cards so close to his chest that it almost looks like there isn’t any card at all to speak of. But it seems that his… intensity doesn’t hide an ulterior motive, his thirst for knowledge is genuine and his ambition devoid of any ill intent.</p><p>In other words, Essek doesn’t know what to make of him.</p><hr/><p>There is another thing.</p><p>Looking at the human is like looking in a strange mirror, one that reflects only parts of himself. Essek prepares the scrying spell, conjuring up some tea while he’s at it, and sits on his chair. He knows it’s ridiculous: he’s keeping an eye on volatile assets, not attending a play. He pushes the thought aside as he focuses on the Mighty Nein’s house.</p><p>The adventurers are regrouping and resting, it seems. Essek follows the sound of the loudest voices, and finds the goblin and the other human loudly arguing on the ground floor, with the half-orc as a reluctant buffer between the two. A quieter conversation is happening in the kitchen, where the rest of them are… except Widogast.</p><p>Essek knows he spends more time on the Empire wizard than on anyone else, but he has a valid reason to give him his attention, especially now that he’s unofficially his pupil.</p><p>At first, it seems that Widogast enjoys spending time on his own when he’s not travelling around with his companions. He reads, studies, occasionally sleeps. Essek reaches the conclusion that he’s a man who enjoys the company of books and himself, in that order.</p><p>And he would be lying if he denied the spark of recognition he feels whenever he sees Widogast thriving in his isolation. There’s something… comforting in it. A sort of pride.</p><p>But, as the hours of observation increase, it becomes apparent that Essek is wrong about that, too. An unpleasant taste fills his mouth as he realises that Widogast may be on his own a lot, but he doesn’t ever seem to feel lonely. His familiar is more like a pet, offering him comfort and company in addition to its assistance. The goblin — Nott, he remembers — interrupts him with alarming frequency, often with inane questions or transparent excuses. He doesn’t seem to mind: he’s always gracious with her, as if he <em> liked </em>to be interrupted. The blue tiefling is often with Nott, and Essek squirms at the tenderness Widogast always puts in her name when he says it. The firbolg comes around with food and tea sometimes. But what happens more and more often is that it’s Widogast himself who interrupts his study sessions, stretches and goes downstairs, where he’s met with a warm acceptance Essek has never experienced either with his family or with his peers.</p><p>Envy is a useless emotion. Not only that, but it’s also potentially dangerous. At the end of another long scrying session, Essek sits in the silent darkness for as long as it takes for this feeling to turn into something he knows how to deal with.</p><hr/><p>It doesn’t escape him how easy it is for him to vouch for the Mighty Nein with the Queen. It’s the right thing to do under every point of view, he tells himself, and yet he’s not used to acting and then rationalising. It’s usually the other way around.</p><p>He's collecting debts, stocking up on collateral. He’s just going to be more cautious, from now on.</p><p>And then Widogast has to go and almost lose his life in a prison cell — one of the few places in the palace more secure than the throne room — a place Essek has let him in. He works his way around the spells and the magical guards in the cell in the time it takes for the guards and Jester to try and incapacitate the Scourger, and he steps in, his cool exterior masking the boiling fury within.</p><p>Even though everything in him screams for blood, even though this is a prisoner of the Dynasty, it’s clear to him that it’s not his call to make. When he turns towards Widogast, he’s relieved to see the understanding in the other wizard’s eyes. And even more relieved, in a hungry, intoxicating way, that he lets Essek do what he wanted from the start.</p><hr/><p>His patience is wearing thin and he’s more and more frustrated and he shouldn’t like the way they keep talking to him with familiarity and ease, asking him for favours without even thinking about it. He shouldn’t like that he’s come to expect the jabs and the silliness, or that he’s anticipating Jester’s quirky messages more than he dreads them.</p><p>He shouldn’t like the way Widogast seems to be comfortable with him, that he doesn’t hesitate before touching his arm to appease him.</p><p><em> We are friends now</em>, the wizard said not too long ago. <em> I would like that</em>, he had answered, and he meant that.</p><p>By this point, as much as it pains him to admit it, he’s juggling more plans and secrets than he feels comfortable with. He finds himself thinking about putting a stop to everything way more often than he would have thought possible. Most of all, he wishes there was someone he could talk to, someone to share his burden.</p><p>A friend. Or friends, plural.</p><hr/><p>Essek takes great pride in his work, and he always works alone. If asked, he would say that the long days and nights he spends in his laboratory when the court didn’t need him are both his happiest memories and the thing he looks forward to the most.</p><p>Then there are other people in his laboratory — people he welcomed and who accepted his invitation gladly, people who count on him to help them, <em> friends, plural </em>— and he can’t. Stop. Smiling. </p><p>It’s not a good look on him, he knows. He’s built an aloof reputation for himself, in every sense of the word, and yet he's as excited as a child as he pores over notes from millennia ago side by side with Caleb, one of them pointing out passages just as the other notices them, and finishing each other’s sentences, with Nott catching the meaning of their half-formed sentences and writing out the complete equation before they even have the chance to spell it out.</p><p>He’s watching Caleb transcribe a collation of the first section of the spell, when the wizard glances at him for a second, and asks: “What is it?”</p><p>Essek blinks. There <em> is </em>something that’s bothering him, but it isn’t important, so he’s been careful to mask his impatience. “What do you mean?” he asks, carefully.</p><p>Caleb doesn’t stop writing as he speaks. “I know something’s bothering you. You’re doing the thing with your lip.” He taps his own lower lip, and Essek, who has indeed been biting his lips to keep himself from pointing out what was bothering him, stops and straightens self-consciously. “Your thoughts are so loud I can’t focus properly, so tell me what I need to fix.”</p><p>When did Essek become such an open book? Even as he scoffs, part of him is embarrassingly pleased. He cannot help but think about the effortless interactions Caleb has with the Nein, that sort of easy intimacy. Is this how it feels to be part of it?</p><p>“Essek,” Caleb says, halfway between teasing and gentle, and Essek realises he’s been stalling.</p><p>He could deny everything, but to what purpose? “You’re not leaving enough room.” He points at Caleb’s notes. “There must be more blank space.”</p><p>“To fix eventual mistakes, <em>ja</em>. But I don’t make mistakes.”</p><p>Essek hides a smile behind a hand. Caleb's tone is even, because he’s stating a fact, and Essek thinks he's right, but he doesn’t need to know it. “It’s not just for mistakes. It’s for improvement.” He knows he sounds pedantic. That’s why he didn’t want to say anything.</p><p>Another quick glance. “You're working on this, too. This is as good as it gets.”</p><p>“Get a room, you two,” Nott interrupts. “Someone’s trying to work, here.”</p><p>They ignore her, but Essek doesn’t miss the way Caleb straightens his back, distancing himself. Subconsciously, or perhaps on purpose. Either way, it doesn’t make a difference. He also notices that Caleb starts spacing his lines out a bit more, and they don’t talk about it again.</p><p>And then the work is done, and Essek looks at the finished spell and sighs.</p><hr/><p>When everything is said and out in the open, he doesn’t know what to do. He just knows that he needs a quiet place to think.</p><p>His hands are trembling and the teleportation spell lacks its usual precision. To Essek’s defense, confessing to having caused a war just to satisfy one’s curiosity would be exhausting for anyone.</p><p>He grunts as he painfully rematerialises higher than he intended, so he’s caught off guard when the ground isn’t where he expects it to be.</p><p>As he lands gracelessly on the rocky ground, a sharp pain shoots up his right ankle and for a moment he feels… better. The physical pain takes his focus away from the gnarled crust of shame that covers his every thought. It doesn’t last long, but it’s a welcome reprieve from another kind of pain.</p><p>Even if his concentration is scattered, to say the least, he still manages to land in one piece on the western shore of Wildemount. A few threadlike clouds are tinted white by the moon, urged on across the sky of the Menagerie Coast by a cool wind that sends a shiver down Essek’s spine.</p><p>The spell that would keep him warm and safe from the elements is already on his lips, but he hesitates. Suffering a bit of cold is not much, as punishments go, but perhaps it’s a start.</p><p>The rocks he lands on are sticky with saltwater, and the tide pools reflect the sky, opalescent mirrors on the black terrain. The dark, broiling mass of the sea is so close that the cold foam sprays his cheeks.</p><p>Most importantly, there’s not a soul in sight.</p><p>He walks closer to the water, and everything suddenly becomes too much and he feels like he can’t take another step. The air around him is filled with the presence of the elements, and the voices inside him fall silent.</p><p>He sits where he is, cross-legged, and he looks down at his empty hands.</p><p>When did it start? Was there a moment when he decided that knowledge was worth a war, or had it been a process, a slow, slippery descent? Had someone else’s ambition just fuelled his own, nourishing a seed that was inside him all along, or was it his fault, his responsibility entirely? And when did he start to see that what he did was wrong, when did he start to want out of it?</p><p>That last question is easier to answer than the others.</p><p>
  <em> We’ve done nothing but show you kindness. </em>
</p><p>Hours have passed by the time he hears a familiar rush of air behind him, announcing that he’s not alone anymore. He doesn’t turn to see who just teleported. There are footsteps, then his hands are not empty anymore.</p><p>Frumpkin bumps his head against Essek’s knuckles and worms his way into his lap without a shred of shame or hesitation. Essek find himself resting his hands on his soft spotted fur as his master kneels next to him.</p><p>“I will leave, if you tell me to.” Caleb’s voice is quiet but firm. Clear, but warm, just as his familiar, who is now purring his heart out in Essek’s lap, perfectly at ease.</p><p>Turning his head, Essek lets himself look at Caleb without self-consciousness. What does he have to lose? Satisfying a strange thirst, his eyes take in as many details as they can. In the bright moonlight, the freckles on Caleb’s nose and cheeks are a dull grey. The hair that falls down from the tie on the back of his neck swoops on his forehead and around his face in gentle, wind-blown waves. When Essek meets his eyes, Caleb’s are wide and steady and honest. </p><p>The silence between them stretches, until it reaches a breaking point and Caleb straightens. He’s about to leave, respecting Essek’s silent wish to be alone.</p><p>Instead of speaking, Essek reaches out and grabs his hands. He doesn’t let go.</p><p>Without hesitation, Caleb falls on his knees again, leaning close to Essek, like all the times they worked together on their spells. Essek remembers the easy familiarity as they tinkered with the Transmogrification spell, both of them casually invading the other’s personal space, their skin brushing as they passed notes back and forth, their minds running at the exact same speed. Caleb's impatience during their lessons, as he swatted Essek’s hand away while he pointed out a difficult passage in the spell Caleb was copying, his usual politeness forgotten.</p><p>The memories dislodge something inside Essek as his thoughts fall into very old tracks. He knows he ruined everything, but perhaps all is not lost. Perhaps, if he’s persuasive enough, if he plays his cards right, he can have Caleb follow him. He can <em> have </em>Caleb.</p><p>But something else recoils at the thought of marring Caleb’s soul, of hardening this man who has every right to be angry and bitter and vengeful, and is instead extending a hand to Essek after he confessed the worst thing he’s ever done.</p><p>He would rather let Caleb go than having him end up like Essek.</p><p>Oblivious to the cataclysm happening inside him, Caleb gives a tight squeeze to his cold hand. They are so close that Essek hears him over the thundering waves, even though he speaks quietly. “You don’t have to decide now, but we would like you to come back with us.”</p><p>He speaks in his usual way, slowly and with some effort, as though each word was one too many. Essek used to brush it away as a second language thing, but now he sees that every word Caleb says is just like than, weighed and precious.</p><p>He wonders what would happen if he refused. He wonders what will happen if he told Caleb exactly what he thinks, if he vomited on him all the darkness he has inside.</p><p>“Why?” he asks instead, and his voice — which he hasn’t used in some time — hurts his throat.</p><p>Caleb doesn’t let him go, doesn’t ease the grip on his hand. “So we can talk about this. Figure out something. Together.”</p><p>Essek can’t help the wry smile that blooms on his lips. “Caleb, I am a bad person…”</p><p>Caleb cuts him off. “I have known some bad people, Essek.” Essek’s only seen him this passionate when they were working together, when Caleb was in front of something he cared about deeply. “You are not one of them. There’s room in you for change, I can see it.” With a small smile, Caleb gently shakes his hand. “Blank space. Remember?”</p><p>Essek doesn’t realise he’s crying until a calloused thumb brushes a tear away from his cheekbone. He misses its warmth as soon as Caleb takes his hand away, but he doesn’t know how to ask him to… He doesn’t know how to ask him anything.</p><p>He tries anyway. “I can’t change what I did.” Every word hurts in every way it can, but he pushes them through anyway.</p><p>The small smile on Caleb’s lips grows into something quietly triumphant. “You can make amends. You can still do something. What happened… You can do something about it, now.”</p><p>“How?”</p><p>Caleb lowers his gaze — on Frumpkin purring away, on their joined hand —, taking a few moments to think about his answer. “Well, first, you apologise.”</p><p>Essek isn’t even bothered by the fact that he’s being spoken to like a child. He deserves it. “I’m sorry.” The whisper leaves his mouth before he realises he’s saying the words.</p><p>But Caleb laughs quietly, shaking his head. “I’m not the one who has to forgive you.”</p><p>If it wasn’t for the fondness in Caleb’s voice, Essek would be embarrassed. His face feels hot anyway.</p><p>Caleb goes on. “Then you fix what can be fixed.”</p><p>Essek has been thinking about that, maybe even too much. “It will take so much time and effort. And it will probably be dangerous.”</p><p>“You can ask for help. That’s what friends are for.” Caleb pauses, lets it sink in for a second. “Our family can be your family, Essek. We’ve already told you.”</p><p>They have, and just like every other time, hope and frustration war inside him. This time, Essek can’t hide this turmoil anymore. “How can you still think I’m worthwhile? How can it be so easy for you to give me a chance?”</p><p>With the same intolerable gentleness as before, Caleb reaches for Essek’s face, but this time he just rests his hand there, his thumb barely stroking his burning, wet cheek. “You, your magic… you’ve dealt in possibilities and second chances all your life.”</p><p>Well. Maybe Essek <em> does </em>have something to lose, still. He looks down at the cat in his lap, and gives Frumpkin’s back a tentative stroke with his free hand. “I have never cared about disappointing anyone before,” he muses. “It’s not… pleasant.”</p><p>Lowering his hand, Caleb answers with a sympathetic huff. “I know.”</p><p>They stay like this for another moment, during which Essek allows himself to be soothed and grounded by petting the purring Frumpkin, by the constant breathing of the waves, by the hand that he’s still holding.</p><p>It’s Caleb who breaks the silence. “The others would love to say hello to you before we leave, if you want.”</p><p>Essek looks up immediately. “Are they here?” He narrows his eyes. “How did you find me?”</p><p>“We had Jester scry on you,” Caleb admits, though he looks less contrite than he ought. “I know you wanted to be alone, and I’m sorry, but we were worried.” He closes his mouth, hesitating over something. “I was.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Essek says again. He hopes it will become easier with practice.</p><p>“And yes, they’re not far from here. Jester’s mother lives in Nicodranas. You saw her earlier, at the party. They’re going to spend the night at her place.”</p><p>His choice of pronouns doesn’t escape Essek. “And you?”</p><p>“I could join them, or stay with you, if you want me.”</p><p>Essek looks at him. Even in the dying light, he sees his face perfectly. Caleb says things like that as if he didn’t know the way every word etched itself inside Essek’s mind.</p><p>“Is there room for me there?” he asks.</p><p>As the wind picks up suddenly, Caleb stands up, helping him do the same. Frumpkin jumps on the ground and disappears without a sound. “Always,” he says, and he’s still holding Essek’s hand as he casts the Teleportation spell.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading! As I said, I wrote this for myself and it's not been betaed; if you notice something egregious (or if you want to scream about Allegedly Evil Wizards with me! Please do!) drop me a line on ye olde <a href="https://mllekurtz.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's been a while! I had most of this chapter written out when I posted the first one, so enjoy my wishful thinking as I expected that the Nein would keep in touch with Essek after episode 97! (Please, Jester, check in on him, for my peace of mind.) So I guess this is now an AU, technically speaking; tags will be updated accordingly.</p><p>Also, I realised belatedly that, when last chapter's events took place, Caleb hadn't learned the Teleport spell yet, and that he still wore the Amulet of Proof against scrying. I apologise for the inaccuracies, and I hope they were small enough to let you enjoy the story nonetheless.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When he hears the knocks on the front gate, Essek schools his expression and opens the door. He’s been fretting since he completed the new spell and sent Caleb a message on the spur of the moment, three days ago, and he hasn’t been able to sit or stay still since Caleb answered that he’d come over as soon as the Nein came back to Rosohna.</p><p>His feet are on the ground more often than not, these days, at least when he’s alone (which is, blessedly, most of the time). This also means he’s probably dug a groove in the laboratory’s floor, one that won’t do to cast any spell.</p><p>He’s done little else but think about how he’d approach the matter, but when he sees Caleb’s face, the speech he prepared — what little there was of that — fades from his mind.</p><p>“Has something happened?” Caleb asks, before Essek can do the same.</p><p>Essek arches an eyebrow. “No. Has something happened to <em> you</em>?”</p><p>They have kept in touch through Jester while the Nein were away, but he and Caleb haven’t seen each other for weeks. The mere presence of Caleb as something more than a thought in Essek’s mind is headier than plum wine. There’s no word for the sort of warm gravity he feels, no equivalent in any of the spells he has mastered.</p><p>He pushes all this aside as Caleb looks at him with an intent expression, as if he were surprised to see him all in one piece and the house still standing. “I thought… Your message,” he tries to explain. A few worry lines smooth away as he readjusts his coat. His clothes are creased and wrinkled, and there’s a scorch mark on his left sleeve. “I thought you were calling because you were in danger.”</p><p>Blinking, Essek tries to remember <em> what </em> exactly he told Caleb, but he can’t. It was embarrassingly spontaneous, and maybe his eagerness (or his nerves) came through as urgency. “I’m sorry I gave you that impression. I <em> do </em>have something I want to talk to you about, but it’s not a matter of life and death. It should prevent it, in fact. Hopefully.”</p><p>Caleb exhales and his shoulders relax visibly as he pulls a copper wire from his coat pocket. “Everything is fine,” he says simply. “Will be back shortly.” He cocks his head as he — presumably — listens to the reply from whomever he sent the message to.</p><p>Essek doesn’t think he realises he’s doing it. It’s hard not to notice Caleb’s cheeks redden furiously at the response, but he doesn’t share, and Essek doesn’t ask. “Please, come in,” he says instead.</p><hr/><p>They haven’t been in the same room since that night in Nicodranas. As it always happens, thinking about it seems to dislodge something behind Essek’s ribs that makes breathing a bit harder, and he lingers in front of the door for a moment to put himself back together.</p><p>He remembers Caleb teleporting them away from the beach and into a small but lavishly furnished room, with drapes and lamps everywhere and a warm, jasmine-scented breeze wafting in from the tall open windows that went from the floor almost all the way to the ceiling, overlooking a small balcony. The furniture included a bed, too, high and layered with artfully scattered covers and spreads.</p><p>Essek didn’t notice that his hand was still in Caleb’s until the other wizard let it go. “Again, I will leave you alone, if you prefer.” There was a hesitation in his voice that wasn’t present when they were on the shore, where Caleb had sounded so collected and confident.</p><p>It was thanks to it that Essek found the courage to speak. <em>Stay</em>, he wanted to say. “As I said, associating with me might prove dangerous for you in the future,” was what came out of his mouth.</p><p>Caleb's answer was quick, as if he had rehearsed it. “We would raise more suspicion if we suddenly cut all contact. But, even if it were dangerous, my offer would still stand.” He spoke quietly, without making eye contact. His voice had the sort of gravitas Essek remembered from their first meetings, before he had the chance to scratch under the surface, discovering his playful, cocky hidden side.</p><p>“Listen. Before I found a family again, before I found Veth…” Caleb looked at him, then, and Essek found himself torn between the contradictory urges to come closer and step back. “There’s probably someone who deserves to spend many nights alone with the memories of the terrible things they did, but you don’t. If I can give you one night of… not that, I will.” His smile is rueful. “I would be doing my younger self a disservice if I didn’t.”</p><hr/><p>Essek remembers the pain that exuded from each word. Caleb didn’t need to illustrate the terrible deeds that weighed on his conscience for Essek to understood what he meant, and how much it cost him to talk about it.</p><p>Casting the memory aside, Essek closes his eyes and steels himself to bite off the matter once and for all. But, as he turns around, he finds himself speechless once again.</p><p>Even if it suits him, there’s no denying that a life spent mostly in solitude left his toll on him. He keeps floundering, forgetting things that seem to come naturally to other people, such as the fact that, even if the gloom isn’t an issue for him, a human can’t see in the dark.</p><p>But the room isn’t dark anymore. A handful of honey-coloured globules of light are floating around Caleb, slowly scattering outwards like lazy jellyfish.</p><p>They make eye contact just as Caleb lowers the hand he used to cast the spell. “I hope it’s not a problem.”</p><p>A good host would offer to light the lamps and candles. But Caleb’s hair looks like burnished gold in the amber light and Essek is, after all, a fundamentally selfish creature. “Not at all. I apologise for forgetting.”</p><p>There’s a moment in which neither of them says anything, and yet the silence doesn’t have that uncomfortable, unfinished quality Essek hates when he’s trying to make conversation with someone else. It’s a reminder, superfluous but welcome, that they are cut from a similar cloth.</p><p>And yet, the silence is still charged. They have been working together for weeks, sharing news and information, and while Essek hopes that he’s started to regain the trust he squandered, Caleb’s words still echo in his mind. <em> I can give you one night. </em></p><p>And, after that, they were to be reluctant allies until proven otherwise.</p><p>It’s Caleb who breaks the silence, eventually. “The others say hello.”</p><p>It doesn’t sound like a pleasantry when he says it. Somewhere between his lungs and his heart, Essek finds his voice again. “I was hoping they might be coming, too. It’s too bad they didn’t.” This isn’t a platitude, either. Part of having friends is enjoying their company, something Essek has been missing. He’s been prodding this particular feeling for a while, now, analysing and examining it from various angles, and he has concluded it’s genuine.</p><p>“They’re home, resting and recovering from our last journey.” Caleb looks in dire need of the same. “I would have teleported here, but I'm out of spells. And you asked to see me alone.”</p><p>Right now, Essek would really love to remember exactly what he asked in his message. “I did, didn’t I? Perhaps it’s best if the others didn’t come, as they would have had to find ways to entertain themselves. I have a spell to show you.”</p><p>At those words, Caleb’s eyes light up, just as Essek hoped they would. “Please.”</p><hr/><p>As Essek leads the way upstairs, his thoughts run back to the last conversation they had face to face, which in turn carried all the weight of the one before that, on the ship.</p><p>In that room in Nicodranas, Caleb had run a hand through his hair, already mussed up by the sea wind. Something became clear to Essek right then. “It never left,” he said, meditatively. “The memory of what you did that day.”</p><p>Slowly, painfully, Caleb shook his head. “And it never will. But the guilt did. Only a little, but it did. I am my own punishment, after all.”</p><p>Hearing his own words echoed back at him, Essek scoffed. As Caleb shook his hair free of its tie, trying to tame it, Essek studied him. He looked different, with his hair down. Younger, if you didn’t look too closely at his eyes. “Everything you went through, that pain… It made you the brave, kind man you are today.” He was desperately aware of how clumsy and unsophisticated his wording was, but it also knew it was an important thing to say.</p><p>“I don’t know if I’d call myself that.” Letting his hands drop, Caleb looked at him strangely. “And perhaps I am what I am<em> despite </em> the pain, not because of it.”</p><p>Essek didn’t understand, not completely, but he didn’t know where to look for an answer, except in the past of a man who was extending him a forgiveness he didn’t deserve, no matter how many conditions he put on it.</p><p>“I’m going to check in on the others,” Caleb said, “and then I’m going to come back. Do you want to be alone?”</p><p>The idea of lying was exhausting. “No,” Essek whispered.</p><p>“Good.” Caleb walked to the door, but he stopped with his hand on the doorknob and turned slightly, speaking above his shoulder. “Because I don't want to be alone either.”</p><hr/><p><em>You had your friends, </em> Essek thinks, his mind supplying memories of all the times he’d scried Caleb’s solitude being soothed by the presence of someone he loved. <em> You didn’t have to stay with me. </em></p><p>The parallel doesn’t strike him until now, up the stairs to his laboratory — the Mighty Nein looking out for Caleb, offering him succour and friendship (a family, dysfunctional as it may be), and Caleb reaching out to him in Nicodranas — so shocking in its obviousness he almost misses a step.</p><p>Bobbing and chasing each other, Caleb’s dancing lights follow them upstairs and through the pathway to the main tower. Essek flicks his fingers as soon as he steps into the laboratory and all the candles there light up with magic, casting a bright indigo light in the room. The world outside the large windows is dark, and Essek allows himself to pretend for a moment that this is just them meeting to talk about magic, no obligations, no time limit, no guilty conscience, stopping only to eat something and maybe have a glass of wine, and enjoy each other's company.</p><p>When has this daydream become so detailed? All his life, Essek's had his priorities straight, but here’s that feeling in his chest again, as if something were straining to get out.</p><p>Shaking his head, he walks towards the desk where he’s left the spell he was working on, but when he turns around he notices that, instead of following him, Caleb is inspecting the overstuffed bookshelves that line the walls.</p><p>“I was too distracted to pay these beauties proper attention, last time.” His voice sounds absorbed, almost dreamy, as his fingertips hover near the spines, not quite touching them. He browses the volumes with reverent blue eyes, avidly but without haste. “Which treasures have you been keeping away from me, Essek?”</p><p>Essek can’t help but think of all the other rooms filled with books in his tower. He’s a century old and he did little else but hoard knowledge, sometimes even without casualties. He speaks without even thinking. “Everything you see is yours.”</p><p>When he's answered with silence, he turns around. He thought the sharing of knowledge was a given. After all, he owes Caleb and the Nein his life and his freedom. The least he can do is give him a few books. He thought it was a given, but the surprise in Caleb's eyes tells him it wasn’t. </p><p>“You can come here any time and take any book you want,” he adds, and if a part of him enjoys seeing the effect those words have on Caleb. Then he remembers something. “Although most of them are in Undercommon, I'm afraid.”</p><p>“A language I don’t speak,” Caleb muses, turning back towards the nearest bookshelf. “Yet. But I may look for a teacher.”</p><p>For a short, undignified instant Essek bristles at the thought of someone else teaching Caleb Essek’s native language. Then Caleb looks at him sideways, a joyful mischief dancing in his eyes, and Essek feels warmth creep up his neck and pool in his cheeks. “Oh. You mean me?”</p><p>“Who else.” Caleb goes back to perusing the shelf, this time running his fingertips along the spines, as if he could divine the meaning of the words by touch alone.</p><p><em> And maybe he can. </em>“Or I could translate them for you,” Essek counteroffers.</p><p>Caleb doesn’t turn away from the books. “You’d get tired of me soon enough.”</p><p>“Never.” <em>Very subtle, Thelyss. </em>He doesn’t go back on it, but he turns his attention to his desk, shuffling papers without looking at them. “Whatever suits you best.”</p><p>“Essek.” Leaving the tomes behind, Caleb has stepped forward. The room isn’t large: they’re not in each other’s personal space yet — they haven’t been since that night — but it would take no effort to be.</p><p>Remorse is a strange feeling. That night in Nicodranas, for example, it seemed to ease his grip on Essek for a while, only to strike again unexpectedly and without warning.</p><hr/><p>“You don’t trust me.” He looked at Caleb pouring the wine he brought with him when he came back. Essek had been standing where Caleb left him, hardly moving a muscle. “And yet you’re here.”</p><p>“As I said, you need me. And one day, if you prove yourself trustworthy, I’ll trust you again.” Caleb walked towards him, handing him a stem glass. “Consider this an advance payment on that.”</p><p>The wine is heady and cold and tastes like a bad idea. Essek takes another sip. “You're a strange and remarkable man, Caleb. I’m glad to know you.” <em> Please</em>, he thought. <em> Please, know that I’m not lying. </em></p><p>Standing in front of him, Caleb brought the glass to his lips, but he hesitated. “I wish it weren’t so easy to like you, Essek.”</p><hr/><p><em>This isn't fair</em>, Essek thought back then, and an echo of that thought makes its way to the present moment. <em>None of this is fair.</em></p><p>He searches on his desk and, when he finds what he's looking for, he lifts it in front of him like a shield. “I have something for you. You don't have to accept it, but I thought you... might perhaps find this useful.”</p><p>Caleb leans forward, clearly itching to touch the thing Essek’s holding but too polite to do so without invitation. “It looks like an amulet.”</p><p>“It is.” The pendant dangling from the thin silver chain is shaped like a pearl and it looks like clear glass. Essek’s free hand goes to the neck of his dress, and he brings out an identical necklace. “This is its twin.”</p><p>He can see that Caleb is intrigued, and it’s hard not to preen at that. Or it would be, if Essek wasn’t preparing for the reaction that could follow his proposition. It could be a gentle, reasonable rejection, but rejection nonetheless.</p><p>“May I hold it?”</p><p>Essek nods. “You may want to hold the chain. Don’t touch the pendant yet.”</p><p>With a smirk, Caleb obeys. “What do they do?” he asks, with almost childlike wonder.</p><p>“They are, ah… communication devices. I know we have our means to keep in contact, but you may find yourself in a situation where talking can be dangerous, or you may get separated from Jester, or…” <em>Stop catastrophising and just explain how the damn thing works.</em> “These pendants are enchanted with an altered Telepathic Bond. This kind of magic is not my speciality, so they’re not perfect, but they should, after attunement and when held, allow a few minutes of silent communication.”</p><p>He looks at Caleb, studying his face to gauge his reaction. He fears Caleb will see the reason why Essek has been so hesitant right away.</p><p>But Caleb just stares at him, blinking. “You made a spell for me,” he says.</p><p>Letting his hands drop, Essek stares at him. “I made a spell that allows me access to your mind,” he blurts out. How could he have thought that Caleb would accept this? “I understand if you don’t want to wear it. You don’t have to say anything.”</p><p>Frowning, Caleb looks at the pendant hanging from the chain he’s holding, then at Essek. “This would be mutual, yes?”</p><p>Grinding his teeth, Essek nods. He might as well say his piece, pretend he's just explaining a spell to his pupil. “It's more immediate and convenient than a Message spell, since it doesn't require to spend any intrinsic magical energy to cast it. It requires contact and concentration, so it should be impossible to activate by mistake. Or at least the chances are unlikely. And the pendants shouldn’t allow every thought to pass, just the ones you want to.” He makes a grimace. “The hypotheticals are due to the fact that I haven’t had the chance to field test them, as it were.”</p><p>“But you wrote the spell,” Caleb insists.</p><p>“I adapted a few existing spells in a new configuration. I’m not entirely illiterate in forms of magic other than dunamancy. I’ve tinkered with some divination and transmutation spells, creating a new pattern. As I said, it <em>should </em>work.”</p><p>When Caleb doesn’t answer, Essek is suddenly overwhelmed by something close to impatience. <em>Stupid</em>, he thinks. He just wishes he could take everything back, starting from the pendant he gave Caleb. He reaches out without thinking, but Caleb, sensing what he wants to do, raises his hand, holding it out of his reach.</p><p>Essek sighs. They both know there are at least eight ways he could effortlessly take it back, but before he can enact even one of them, Caleb grabs the pendant with his other hand.</p><p>“Can you hear what I'm thinking?”</p><hr/><p>“Do you ever dream?”</p><p>Even if there was a perfectly functional couch in the room, they were sitting side by side on the bed, leaning against the wealth of pillows stacked there. Putting his glass down for a moment, Caleb had taken off his boots with a satisfied sigh which had made Essek suspect that the shoes were new. Then he had drained the glass, grabbed the entire bottle and flung himself down on the bed.</p><p>Unsure if he was to consider it an invitation, Essek had taken a sip of his wine to stall, when Caleb had wordlessly patted the bed next to him.</p><p>“I know you don’t need to sleep,” Caleb went on, shifting a little as Essek settled down beside him. “I envy you, you know.”</p><p>“Do you?” Essek answered, diplomatically.</p><p>A deep frown appeared on Caleb’s forehead. “The dreams are bad. But I’m glad I have them.” He opened his eyes, looking straight at him. “I have clung to my guilt for so long, I wouldn’t know how to live without it. I don’t deserve to.” His crooked smile is sharp like a glass shard. “At least you won’t have the dreams. You’re lucky.”</p><p>As Caleb took a long sip from the bottle, Essek swallowed. The taste in his mouth was suddenly acrid. “I do sleep, sometimes,” he said, even if he knows that’s not the point. He rearranged his dress around his legs, trying to find the right words. “And you don’t deserve to be punished forever.”</p><p>“Some things are unforgivable,” Caleb answered immediately. “But you can learn how to live with them.”</p><p>When Essek reached for the bottle, Caleb passed it to him. “I will kindly ask you to show me how, then,” murmured Essek, before taking a sip.</p><p>Caleb chuckled. “I’m not sure I know yet. I would be a bad teacher.”</p><p>“Then we’ll learn it together.” Essek didn’t know where that stubbornness came from. Probably from the wine. A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “But that's a bold statement, since you think I’m hopeless.”</p><p>He wasn’t looking at him, but he could sense Caleb frowning. “I never said anything like it.”</p><p>“But you think you are, and we are the same.”</p><p>A tense silence followed his words. Essek didn’t even have the time to bask in his rhetorical victory that his face was suddenly cradled between two warm hands and turned towards Caleb’s. He almost dropped the wine, and wouldn’t that have been a shame.</p><p>They were not as close as they had been on the ship, but the fact that they were alone, and on a bed of all places, made it intolerably intimate. And the intensity in Caleb’s eyes… Well. Essek blinked, trying to focus.</p><p>Caleb spoke slowly and quietly, each word etching itself in the silence around them. “You once said that facing the unknown scared you, but that’s what makes it worthwhile.”</p><p>Voice, where was his voice? “You use my own words against me.”</p><p>Ignoring him, never breaking eye contact, Caleb shook him gently. “You are worthwhile.”</p><p>He parted his lips to add something, but Essek wasn’t sure he was going to survive it, since he already felt he was about to shatter. So he acted on instinct, and on a desire that had been growing – inexplicably and to his utter bafflement, but steady and true – and he leaned forward, smothering Caleb’s next words with his lips.</p><p>It was artless and clumsy, but it didn’t matter. If he messed up a spell, Essek would have felt mortified, but his experience in this field was close to none, and he would have been surprised if it had been different for Caleb. Moreover, he felt that the signified was more important than the signifier, in this context.</p><p>Despite his muffled gasp of surprise, Caleb didn’t pull away. <em>(He didn’t pull away</em>, Essek’s heart sang.) He even leaned into Essek for an instant, imperceptibly but undeniably, before breaking off the kiss and gasping for air. “Essek, <em>liebe</em>, I can’t…”</p><p>“I know,” Essek interrupted him. And he did. He remembered what Caleb told him about his guilt and his shame and how they were so intertwined with his nature that removing them would pull him apart. He knew that Caleb didn’t trust him enough for this to be more than a quick indulgence, and he didn’t expect for it to be anything more than that.</p><p>Their foreheads were pressed together, the wine bottle fell on the floor. They were grasping at each other like lifelines.</p><p>“I know,” Essek repeated, and then he took a steadying breath and let it out with a whisper. “You said one night.”</p><hr/><p>“No, I can’t hear what you’re thinking.” Essek is slightly annoyed, but mostly amused. Is this what dealing with humans feels like? Like trying to get children to behave? “I told you it required attunement.”</p><p>Caleb waits to see if Essek will try to snatch the amulet from him again, and when he seems sure Essek has given up, he slips the necklace around his neck. His utter lack of hesitation is worth more than words. “This is a very thoughtful and useful gift, Essek,” Caleb says, suddenly formal. “As for what I was thinking, I will have to tell you the old-fashioned way.”</p><p>In the moments that follow this sentence, Essek feels such a strong sense of foreboding that he almost begs him to stay silent. But he doesn’t, and at least he’s ready – as ready as he can be, in any case – when his world comes crashing down around him.</p><p>“I’m going back to the Empire,” says Caleb.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I foresee another couple of chapters in this story, if life would please relent a little. Thank you for reading! I'm always happy to chat about fandom stuff on <a href="https://mllekurtz.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>All my gratitude to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Criticalpancake/pseuds/Criticalpancake">Criticalpancake</a>, who helped me out of the mess I put myself in! There's definitely some creative rule-wrangling with the spells in this chapter, both for plot reasons and because I begrudgingly believe in the Rule of Fun (though I would definitely still vote for Liam as president of D&amp;D Beyond).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Home, Essek has heard, is where the heart is. He’s never truly thought about it, mostly because ruminating on such trivialities feels like a waste of precious time. But if someone asked him where his heart feels at home, his mind would probably go to the corridors, the towers and the domed halls of the Marble Tomes Conservatory.</p><p>His face is well-known around here as it is in the palace, as well as his name, Den Thelyss being the main reason this place keeps being an efficient, well-run and exhaustive archive of knowledge.</p><p>As he crosses the Firmaments, floating past the grassy gardens and the sculptures of the residential district, he chooses a different path to the Tomes than the one he usually takes. It’s a bit more roundabout, but avoiding seeing a particular house empty and silent, with its windows dark and its door locked, is well worth a five minute detour.</p><p>The last few weeks have been a stressful, busy time. The success of the peace talks doesn’t mean that the tension between his nation and their former enemy has dissipated, and domestic policy is full of difficult knots to untangle at the best of times. The balance in place is delicate and ephemeral, and sometimes Essek feels like he’s the only one keeping the scales from tipping into chaos.</p><p>In short, this is not a situation in which a man can afford to nurse his hurt feelings. And, even if he had the time, forgetting about them would be the safer option. </p><p>When he gave the pendant to Caleb, the last time they saw each other, Essek didn’t ask him what his plan was, going back to the Empire. The less he knows, he reasoned, the fewer chances they had of becoming a liability for one another.</p><p>Day after day passes in which he doesn’t scry on Caleb, or use the pendant: the former is just common courtesy, while the latter is a hesitation born out of a more confused sentiment. He wouldn’t know how to explain it without sounding petulant, but he took the first step enchanting the pendants and giving one of them to Caleb. Using them first feels like… overstepping.</p><p>In short, here he is, doing his duty one moment and working in the shadows the other, as always, but with a generous helping of worry on the side.</p><p>Sometimes, though — it doesn’t happen often, because if there’s something Essek has learned from a very young age it’s to keep his emotions bottled and hidden — but sometimes someone passes by and leaves a trail of jasmine behind them, or he opens a bottle of wine at the end of a long day, and the memories he’s kept at bay flood in. <em> One night and you’re ruined forever, Thelyss, </em>he thinks drily, as if mocking himself could have some effect.</p><p>He brushes the dust off the volume he’s just taken off the shelf. He can’t afford to think these thoughts while he’s not in the safety of his house. He doesn’t trust his face, his ears, his mannerisms. Floating a bit higher, he reaches the shelf above to take another book, piling it on top of the first. Not that this area of the Tomes is ever that much crowded, but it’s probably better if nobody sees his cheeks turn dark purple for no apparent reason while he relives the memory of hiding his face in Caleb’s hair as he whispered endearments in Essek’s ear, again and again. He can still hear his voice in his head, as clear as if he was speaking to him right now.</p><p>
  <em> I hope I’m not interrupting anything.  </em>
</p><p>With a loud thud, the books Essek is carrying fall on the floor. If that hasn’t attracted the attention of everyone in this section, his heart is beating loud enough that the whole library surely must hear it. Essek crouches, collecting both the books and himself as his free hand clutches the pendant under his cloak. At least he hasn’t sworn. Not out loud.</p><p><em> I’m sorry. </em> But the voice in his head sounds more amused than repentant. <em> I didn’t know you had such a filthy mouth, Herr Thelyss. Or mind, I should say. </em></p><p>So Caleb’s heard him. Resisting the urge to let go of the pendant and nurse his humiliation in peace, Essek blows away a strand of hair that’s fallen on his forehead and straightens his back. <em> You couldn’t possibly have understood </em> that<em>. </em></p><p>
  <em> I don’t speak Undercommon, but I’ve spent enough time with Beau to pick up a word or two. </em>
</p><p>A shiver runs down Essek’s back as he imagines the kind of vocabulary Beau must have unknowingly taught him. <em> Can I help you? </em></p><p>
  <em> Actually, yes. We found a few documents we’d like to have your opinion on. Letters, short messages. </em>
</p><p>Of course Caleb has a practical reason to talk to him. Essek furiously tamps down whatever unbidden feeling made his heart swell and forgets it ever happened. <em> Gladly. May I ask why do you need my expertise on that? </em></p><p>The silence on the other end of the spell stretches long enough for him to realize Caleb is debating how much to tell him. And he has the right to be cautious. On the other hand, Essek has the right to feel irritated.</p><p><em> If you want my opinion to have any value, I need to know the truth, </em>he argues, and if his tone is snippier than he intended, well. So much the better.</p><p>He starts to regret his sharp words, however, when the silence stretches for so long that he fears Caleb has changed his mind. Essek lets go of the pendant, afraid that some of his thoughts might pass through.</p><p>But then Caleb’s voice rings in his ears again. <em> We fear there are some shady dealings in place between the Empire and the Dynasty. Again. I’m sorry, </em> he repeats, and this time he sounds sincere. <em> I cannot tell you more. Asking you has been… a last resort of sorts. I’m sure you understand. </em></p><p>Essek will feel sorry for himself later; for now, he focuses on the part where he can be of use to Caleb and the others. It makes sense: his defection as a traitorous double agent created a void that was going to be filled, at some point or another. His hold on the books tightens, but he doesn’t react in any other way. He floats towards a table, so he can free his hands and pull ink and parchment from their pocket dimension. His own research can wait. <em> Well, then. Tell me what is safe for me to know. I’m at the Marble Tomes right now, by the way, if you need me to look up anything else of interest. </em></p><p>Caleb’s voice is a little deeper when he answers, <em> Thank you, friend. </em></p><p>Essek lets out the breath he was holding. The Mighty Nein might not trust in him fully, but he’ll take anything that’s offered to him, even if it’s just a hesitant, mistrustful hand. He can’t afford to throw these crumbs away, to insist on all or nothing.</p><hr/><p>After that, the silences between messages are still long, but they have lost their uncertain quality. The second time Caleb speaks to him, Essek is not caught unprepared, even if he’s in the middle of a meeting at the Lucid Bastion. Two long hours pass before he’s in his laboratory, alone, and he can answer safely.</p><p>
  <em> I am sorry for the delay. What is it you need? </em>
</p><p><em> Essek. </em>The reply is immediate, as if Caleb had his hand on the pendant already, and a bit startled.</p><p><em> You were resting. </em>Essek states the obvious. <em> If this can wait, we could… </em></p><p><em> No, no, it’s a quick thing. </em>It’s evident that Caleb is trying to shake off sleep as he speaks. </p><p>Sitting behind his desk, Essek waits patiently and doesn’t think about the fact that he’s never witnessed Caleb waking up. That night, time seemed to slip through his fingers as they talked and kissed and touched, and just as the light of dawn started creeping into the room, Caleb went away. And if Essek hesitated a moment longer to teleport back into his tower, lingering in the bed and committing everything that transpired to memory to the best of his abilities, it was nobody’s business but his own.</p><p><em> We found more documents, and Beau has translated most of them, but we’re… ah, uncertain about a few words. </em> His careful wording leads Essek to believe that someone didn’t like having her translating abilities impugned. <em> We’re uncertain about a few words, </em>Caleb amends pointedly a few seconds later.</p><p>Essek’s heart is suddenly a bit lighter, and it takes him a moment to realise it’s because Caleb wasn’t self-conscious about telling Beauregard, and presumably the others, too, about the pendant. <em> I believe I can help with that</em>, he says, keeping his tone neutral.</p><p>The third time they use the pendant, Essek has had maybe a little too much wine. He comes from a dinner with the Dens, which requires a standard amount of alcohol to be tolerable by itself, and then he was seized by a strange, wistful sadness when he got home. The point being that what he’s about to do is probably ill-advised, but right now — at the top of the tallest tower, with the faint, irregular whispers of gears shifting above him as the magical tides of the world ebb and flow, a singular tree breaking the familiar skyline of towers and buildings — right now Essek doesn’t care. Still, he takes another gulp of wine before he finds the courage to touch the pendant.</p><p>
  <em> Are you doing something that requires focus? </em>
</p><p>The answer comes mere seconds later, and is somehow preceded by a sigh. <em> Not right now. </em></p><p>Essek bites his bottom lip, fangs grazing the skin, but not enough to clear his mind and bring back his sanity, because he goes on. <em> I’m going to try something. </em></p><p>He can almost see Caleb perk up at that. <em> I’m all ears. </em></p><p>Instead of using his words, Essek concentrates on what’s around him. The city, the few voices that lift from the nearby gardens, the wind hissing among the towers, the familiar vibration of magic in his fingertips, slumbering but ready to be summoned.</p><p>The thing is, the pendant is not meant to carry feelings. He made sure of it. But, as far as sensations are concerned, there might be a bit of a leeway.</p><p>Letting out a long sigh, he breaks his focus. <em> Did anything carry through? </em></p><p><em> It looks like a lovely evening. </em> Caleb is smiling, Essek can feel it, but there’s also something else in his voice. Sadness? He can’t tell, and he can’t ask.</p><p>Slowly, he lets the glass pearl slip from his fingers.</p><p>The fourth and last time they speak through the pendant, Essek doesn’t know exactly how long it’s been, but it might be minutes or hours. When he hears the words, they’re so quiet Essek thinks he’s imagined them. Maybe he’s fallen asleep and he’s dreaming, because the voice whispering in his mind, while undeniably Caleb’s, spoke in Undercommon.</p><p>He wants to make sure he remembers them exactly. He would encase them in amber, if he could. He finds himself envying Caleb’s inability to forget anything more and more each day. He hesitates for several moments before saying <em> Goodnight </em>back.</p><hr/><p>He’s reading in his laboratory, a few days after, when it happens.</p><p>The people who appear out of nowhere trigger the defense spells he put in place long ago. The Magic Missiles glyph, set to fire upon detecting an unauthorised Teleport spell, hits one of them. The attacker falls on the floor, but judging by his screams, he’s still alive.</p><p>Essek stands, taking a step back and assessing the situation while covertly pushing a heavy paperweight aside with his foot. There’s no outward indication that the Glyph of Warding surrounding his desk has been activated, but he knows.</p><p>There are three of them — two men and a woman, at first sight — all dressed in plain, dark, functional clothes. The woman doesn’t give him time to Counterspell the paralysing enchantment she tries to cast on him, but one of the rings he’s wearing takes care of it for him. He takes another step back, hoping they’ll come closer and activate the Glyph, while raising his hand.</p><p>The incantation the woman is muttering is cut short as she slams violently against the bookcase to her left and falls to the floor, while books and jars of components crash on her. Essek’s back hits the wall just as the last wizard standing hurls a mote of fire towards him. Pain flares on his side as his house clothes start to burn, but the hostile spell activates his second ring of storing, and when the wizard opens his mouth again, no sound comes out.</p><p>In another circumstance, Essek would take a moment to enjoy the flabbergasted look on the wizard’s face. As it is, he’s too busy extinguishing the flames on his clothes. The pain is dulled by the adrenaline that flows through him, and as the wizard pulls out a dagger and runs towards him, Essek realises he won’t have time to prepare a spell to defend himself.</p><p>In the end, he’s saved the indignity of being stabbed in his own laboratory: as soon as the other wizard steps on the Glyph of Warding, a crackling sound fills the room as a minor electrical shock goes through him. A few seconds later, he drops on the floor, unconscious, as the air is pervaded by a faint burning smell.</p><p>The silence that follows is broken only by the breath of the two conscious mages and Essek, whose stomach drops when he’s finally able to take in the devastation in his laboratory. He will deal with it later, though. There are more pressing matters right now.</p><p>He’s never seen these people before, but he can gather a few things based on how they reacted: they clearly didn’t count on him to be this prepared (which would be slightly insulting, if he cared); their spell choices all tell him that they wanted him alive; and their muffled imprecations confirm what he had already suspected: they’re from the Empire.</p><p>Before any of them has any chance to recover, there’s another thing Essek must do. He brings his hand to his chest, where the pendant hangs from its chain, and he cups it in his palm.</p><p>Even if Essek can handle such poorly-organised enemies, they’re sent by someone way more powerful than them. He can’t risk leaving a trail that leads straight to Caleb. Seeing what must be done and doing it has never been difficult for him. He’s always been ready to do the most distasteful things in a heartbeat, if he believed they were necessary. He’s not used to feeling this resistance, this hesitation, to having to fight the temptation to indulge and say a last goodbye, before he closes his fist and Dispels the magic on the pendant.</p><p>A movement catches his eye as the first of his aggressors, the one that was hit by the Magic Missiles, moves his fingers and begins casting an incantation.</p><p>Essek counterspells it absent-mindedly. “I like my windows,” he says, “but not enough that I won’t send the three of you through them if you attempt anything else.”</p><p>Nursing her side, the woman spits blood on the floor. “Fucking crick. Is he dead?” she asks, looking at her unconscious companion.</p><p>“The spell was only ever meant to stun.” Essek didn’t want to harm unexpected but well-intentioned visitors permanently, or himself in case he triggered the wards by mistake. He might be paranoid, but he’d rather err on the side of caution. Well, his paranoia proved well founded in the end, didn’t it? “Let’s talk. I assure you I can be very reasonable.”</p><p>The wizard’s face is a grimace of pain and rage, but she looks doubtful for a second. </p><p>Looking more closely at her, Essek sees that she’s human, and probably around Beauregard’s age. From what he understands of human physiology, that’s quite young to be sent to capture the Shadowhand. “If you tell me what you want, I could be inclined to cooperate,” he adds.</p><p>“And what makes you think we won’t just take what we want?”</p><p>Essek scoffs. Does he really have to point out that he’s literally the last man standing? “If you could, you’d already done it.”</p><p>The two Empire wizards exchange a glance, and the woman speaks again. “There’s a wizard in the Empire. He and his friends are toying with forces that they don’t understand. And they aren’t prone to listening to advice. So we’re going to use you to convince them to cooperate.”</p><p><em> How do they know? </em>A surge of panic goes through Essek. Have they captured his friends? Tortured them? Then he curses inwardly. It doesn’t take a genius to see that these people were sent by the Assembly, and he broadcast his allegiance to the Mighty Nein to Ludinus Da’leth himself in Nicodranas. “Are they your prisoners?”</p><p>The younger mage coughs. “What’s it to you?”</p><p>Ignoring him, Essek stares at the woman, who wets her lips. “Not yet. They’re slippery fuckers. But soon.”</p><p>Essek’s smile grows a little fonder. “Your information is incorrect. I have no ties with them, except those that I’ve been forced to make for convenience.” His tone is calm, diplomatic, convincing.</p><p>The woman’s harsh laugh reverberates in the room. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you.”</p><p>Essek shrugs, although the fact that he’s still holding his singed side takes away some of the self-assurance he wanted to project. “I’m ready to repeat it under a Truth spell.” If everything goes well, his bluff will pay off and he won’t need to. Worst case scenario, he’ll have to phrase his answers very carefully.</p><p>He never breaks eye contact with the woman, not even when she tries to bore a hole into his skull with her eyes. Then, without looking away from him, she tilts her head towards the younger wizard. “Dalen.”</p><p>As he feels the spell taking hold of him, Essek fights the instinct to resist it. It’s unpleasant, like swallowing slime, and it leaves his skin tingling.</p><p>When the incantation is complete, the younger mage nods to the woman, who asks: “What’s your connection to the wizard named Caleb Widogast and his companions?”</p><p>All the lies Essek’s told in his life, all the people he’s deceived have just served to prepare him for this moment. He tries to straighten his back, but the effect is somewhat ruined by his wince. When the pain subsides, he speaks slowly and clearly. “Every second those adventurers are alive, I’m in danger. They know things about me that could get me executed, or worse. The fact that they brought <em> you </em>here should be proof enough. If you want to end them, I can help. I can bring you to them.”</p><p>He resists the urge to hold his breath as he waits for the spell to identify a lie, but if the boy’s disappointed expression can be trusted, it hasn’t happened.</p><p>“I still don’t believe you,” the other wizard spits out.</p><p>Essek chuckles and regrets it immediately. He doesn’t know what being stabbed feels like — and he doesn’t want to think about how close he came to discovering it just a short while ago — but he bets it’s not very different. “Using me as bait or leverage is ill-advised.” This wouldn’t be a lie in any circumstance, and the words slip easily from his mouth.</p><p>“I saw the bastard using Dynasty spells with my own two eyes, and I’ve received his same training. Do you think I don’t know how it works? What has he promised you in exchange for those spells? What’s between you and him?”</p><p>Of all the reactions to such a question, a baffled laugh is probably not what the Empire wizards were expecting. Clearing his throat, Essek takes some time to regain his composure and find a suitable answer. How fitting and ironic at once, that he should voice his feelings for the first time under a death threat. “I’m afraid whatever sentiment may exist between us isn’t mutual.”</p><p>The two of them look at each other for a long moment, then the younger one nods.</p><p>The older one lets out a frustrated sigh as she begins the slow and apparently painful process of standing up, propping herself on the bookshelves. The boy does the same, favouring one arm as he seeks support, and walks up to her, touching her shoulder and murmuring a few words. Judging from the way she stands straighter and her relieved sigh, it was not just for comfort.</p><p>As the younger mage casts the same healing spell on their third companion, the woman looks at Essek. “Show us the place, then.”</p><p>Carefully, Essek pushes himself away from the wall, raising his free hand in a conciliatory gesture when his movement is met with a wary look from the older mage. “I’m just going to look for a map. It’s in the top drawer of my desk. You can see for yourself, if you don’t trust me.”</p><p>The woman turns towards Dalen, crouched on the floor beside the third wizard, who’s once again conscious. “Is he telling the truth?”</p><p>He nods again. “But we can’t go before we get all our spells back, Maeve.”</p><p>Essek encompasses the wrecked room with a gesture. “You’re welcome to rest here.”</p><p>“Yeah, no, we’ll risk it.” The woman, the one they called Maeve, points a finger at Essek. “You’re coming with us, crick. No tricks.”</p><p>If smiles could be poisonous, the one Essek gives her would kill a moorbounder. She doesn’t react as he reaches his desk, opens a drawer and retrieves the map. Opening it single-handedly proves to be a long, frustrating task, but nobody steps up to help him, and that’s just fine with him. As the map lies fully unfolded on his desk, he feels the Zone of Truth spell fading. “Here,” he says, pointing at a location he chose long ago in case something like this happened. “The last time I spoke to them, this is where they were headed.”</p><p>The three mages gather on the other side of the desk.</p><p>“There’s nothing there,” says the one no longer affected by the Silence spell, who’s apparently been brought up to date by his companion. “It’s not even in the Empire.”</p><p>“They’re trying to retrieve some kind of weapon, as far as I know,” Essek lies easily. “I’m not part of their inner circle.”</p><p>The man looks at him with hatred. “I don’t trust you.”</p><p>Essek shrugs as naturally as he can while still clutching his side. “Good luck, then. I’m sure the people who sent you won’t mind if you return to the Empire empty-handed.”</p><p>From the look he gets, he imagines Maeve is wondering how it would feel to strangle him. Good. Let her grow angry. Let her become reckless.</p><p>“We should just bring the information home,” the third mage tells her, with a note of urgency in his voice.</p><p>But Maeve understands what Essek already knows, and his soft smile doesn’t falter when she glares at him. “We need to verify it first. Can either of you take us there?” she asks the other two, but they both shake their heads.</p><p>“I have the means, but I’ve never been that far north,” adds Dalen. “The chances of botching it are too high.”</p><p>“I know my way around there,” Essek interjects, helpfully.</p><p>The telltale crackling of an Evocation spell fills the room as Maeve raises a hand. There’s no flame yet, but the air above her palm is sizzling with heat. “If this is a trick…”</p><p>Feigning exasperation is easy when you’re genuinely feeling it, Essek finds. “I won’t teleport you into a volcano. If I’m coming with you, I have no interest in putting myself in danger as well.”</p><p>There’s a tense silence as the three of them look at each other, trying to find a fault in this plan. Essek can almost feel the moment they fall into the web he’s woven. Keeping the triumph from showing on his face is easy when he reminds himself that things can still go very wrong.</p><p>“It’s a high-level spell,” the third mage observes, “he’ll be weaker, and there’s three of us against one.”</p><p>Essek doesn’t point out that numerical advantage didn’t work in their favor earlier. They were obviously expecting him to let his guard down in the perceived safety of his own home, but they ended up starting a fight on his turf and on his terms instead.</p><p>All this time, Maeve hasn’t lowered her hand, keeping the fire spell at the ready. “Fine,” she says. “Take us there, and if what you said is true, you’re free to go.”</p><p>Essek bows his head, like he’s done a million times at the Bastion, and takes his cloak from the back of his chair, draping it awkwardly on his shoulders with only one hand.</p><p>“Should I heal him?” Dalen asks, glancing at him. Maeve’s only answer is a piercing gaze that shuts him up better than any explicit denial would.</p><p>“You may want to stand close to each other.” Without waiting, Essek starts drawing the sigil into the air.</p><p>He purposely avoids telling them to hold hands.</p><p>As the ground under their feet starts glowing with a bright light, reality frays at the edges and then disappears completely. When it knits itself back together, the contrast between the comfort of the laboratory, ravaged as it was, and the hostile, freezing environment they materialise in couldn’t be more pronounced.</p><p>Flurries of enormous snowflakes obstruct his field of vision, but Essek manages to make out a tall, steep mountainside. Above him, the jagged profile of the Flotket Alps loom ominously, their summit disappearing among the clouds. The teleportation seems to have been successful, but if Essek could anticipate the conditions of their arrival, the three mages are taken aback by the snowstorm, which is worse than the last time Essek was here. </p><p>Even in these conditions, the amount of daylight that filters through the clouds and is refracted on the thick layer of snow on the ground is enough to hurt him. Instead of wasting a Darkness spell, he starts floating, moving away from the mountains before the disorientated Empire wizards can get their bearings.</p><p>But a hand grips his arm, and Essek turns to look straight at Dalen’s face. He’s really little more than a kid. There’s a brief pause, during which Essek is almost sorry to see the young mage’s eyes widen with the realisation that they’ve been betrayed.</p><p>When the invisible wave hits him, Dalen is forced to let go of Essek as he’s thrown back several feet into the snow. He lands with a scream, which alerts the other two. Without turning his back to them, Essek floats away as fast as he can. A warm dart of energy grazes his ear, and another shoots by, disappearing into the snow, doing no harm. The third one, though, hits its target.</p><p>Essek winces in pain and his retreat is stalled as he tumbles down in the snow. Looking down at his shoulder, he sees his usually pristine cloak is pierced by a round scorch mark.</p><p>It’s not a serious wound, but between this and the burn on his side… let’s just say he’s had better days.</p><p>He hears rather than sees Maeve moving closer to him, because the faint fizzling sound of the Evocation spell is now a fiery roar, even louder than the storm around them. “You could have died in the comfort of your own home,” she shouts, “but if you’d rather I killed you at the end of the world, I’ll be happy to oblige.”</p><p><em> Keep talking, why won’t you </em>, Essek thinks, while he gets ready to Counterspell under his cloak. Nevertheless, it’s a coin toss whether the fire will engulf him before he can dispel it.</p><p>But they will never find out.</p><p>The shriek is distant but clear, and definitely not human. It starts as ominous as distant thunder, then surges with a crescendo towards a high, painful note. Essek feels the ground shake.</p><p>A moment later, a shadow falls on them.</p><p>“Dragon!” a voice shouts.</p><p>As the wizard looming above him is distracted, Essek quickly Misty Steps away and keeps putting all the distance he can between him and immediate danger, considering his options as he half glides, half stumbles through the snow to a place where he can cast the spell that will teleport him to safety. It’s a far cry from his usual smooth glide, but he couldn’t care less.</p><p>As Maeve looks behind her at the indistinct but unmistakable form of an ancient white dragon, the Nightmare in Ivory shrieks again, and the few parts of Essek that weren’t already chilled are frozen with a primal, almost paralysing fear.</p><p>To say that he’s not a religious man is an understatement, but if he were, this is when he would put his life in the hands of a god. He loses sight of the three wizards as the dragon, lured out of her lair by their voices, looks for her prey.</p><p>He doesn’t wait to see who it will be: as long as it’s not him, his plan is working. Sounds of fighting echo behind him as he hits a hidden rock with his foot, and then he falls, the jagged edge scraping his leg. He’s so cold that he doesn’t even feel the pain, so he moves on, limping towards what looks like a thicket of trees in the distance. It’s impossible to assess just how far it is, but if he can reach it, it could give him the shelter he needs.</p><p>Exhaustion catches up with him mere feet before the edge of the trees. When he falls into the snow, both the distant screams and the relentless sound of the wind are muffled. His feet, hands and eartips went numb long ago, and where he doesn’t feel pain, he doesn’t feel anything at all.</p><p>When he realises he won’t be able to draw the glyphs that will teleport him back home, he doesn’t feel anything, either.</p><p>In the end, he’s almost surprised to acknowledge that he has no regrets. He would have liked to push further before he died, yes, to pierce the veil of the unknown and reveal the mysteries still hidden in the Beacons. But he’s always courted danger. He’s always known his life could end in a snap of fingers, in a silent nod to an executioner.</p><p>The last thing he thinks about before losing consciousness is a pair of crystal blue eyes, kind and inquisitive, belonging to a man who’d been his for a single night.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is going to be fine, I promise! Yell at me on <a href="https://mllekurtz.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Consciousness is something that comes in flashes between swirling moments of nothingness. Someone lifts him, carrying him above the snow. Nothing. He could swear they’re walking through a tree. Nothing.</p><p>Essek is alive, but not well.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This fic is probably the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written in terms of taking a few characters and playing with them like dolls. I'm having a lot of fun writing it, but all this *gestures vaguely at the plot* turned a bit darker than I initially expected, so mind the updated tags.</p><p>I also updated the chapter count: one more chapter and we're done (hopefully)!</p><p>As always, my gratitude to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Criticalpancake/pseuds/Criticalpancake">Pancake</a>, who fixes my typos and my continuity errors, and is also the best cheerleader ♥</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Having never died before, Essek is not sure if hearing voices is part of the process.</p><p>But even then, isn’t he supposed to just stay dead, being unconsecuted? Is he in some sort of afterlife? Are these the screams of other lost souls that he’s hearing?</p><p>It’s not until his body is suffused with a mild warmth that he starts doubting he’s actually dead. Still, opening his eyes seems like too much of an effort, as is thinking, so he doesn’t do either.</p><p>He can make out the words uttered just above him, though. “That should do it. Finding you has been a real pain in the neck, pretty boy. <em>Druid girl, here!</em>” After shouting the last sentence — making Essek wince and solidifying the thesis that he’s somehow still alive — the voice lowers again. “You need proper healing, and I can’t do that right now.”</p><p>If this is some sort of spirit or psychopomp, it sounds really vexed. It’s only when a warm, solid, not at all spiritual hand is taken away from his forehead that Essek realizes it was there to begin with.</p><p>He formulates the question before he even realises he’s speaking, even if a weak “Who…?” is all that comes out of his mouth.</p><p>His put-upon saviour shushes him. “The <em>who </em>is Calliope Clay. You might remember my brother: tall, a bit odd, drinks a lot of tea? Hey, stay with me.” This time, the hand pats his cheek, a little more forcefully than Essek thinks is warranted. “As for the <em>how, </em>maybe later, yes? When you’re not mostly dead anymore.”</p><hr/><p>Consciousness is something that comes in flashes between swirling moments of nothingness. Someone lifts him, carrying him above the snow. Nothing. He could swear they’re walking through a tree. Nothing.</p><p>Then the paralysing cold suddenly gives way to a warmth that makes his skin prick and ache. When he tries to open his eyes, bright sunlight blinds him. If he needed one last proof that he’s alive, this is it: everything hurts.</p><p>Except for his hands. He can’t feel his hands. The thought is not as reassuring as it feels at first.</p><hr/><p>As much as he tries to wake up, he’s trapped in hazy, feverish dreams for an amount of time he has no way of measuring. He needs to know where he is and what happened to him and his would-be killers, he needs to assess and take control of the situation, and most of all he needs to make plans. But his eyes won’t open, and every time he thinks he’s conscious it soon becomes apparent that he’s still dreaming.</p><p>It’s only when he lashes out to defend himself against a screaming shadow and he hits a very solid wall with his elbow that he finally wakes up. The pain is so sharp he regrets it immediately.</p><p>Slowly, as he cradles his arm against his chest, he becomes aware of more and more details of his surroundings. He’s lying on something too uncomfortable to be a bed, maybe a cot, pressed against the wall of what looks like a small, incredibly cramped room. It’s mercifully dark in here, even though sunlight filters through the shades of a small window and under a wooden door, both on the opposite wall.</p><p>He vaguely remembers voices and names that he supposes belong to whoever saved him. The same people presumably took his clothes off and wrapped him up in a preposterous amount of blankets. Discovering who they are, how they found him and what they want him to do to repay his debt is at the top of his list of priorities.</p><p>His next breath is slow and deliberate. First of all, he’s alive. That’s not the predictable assumption it’s always been. He will take care of everything else, one thing at a time.</p><p>The very first item on his list, however, is something he would rather put off, even though he knows he can’t ignore it any longer.</p><p>The memories of his rescue are an intricate mess, and several of them are probably mostly nightmares, but he remembers something about his hands. Even now he doesn’t dare move them, fearing that they would not obey. The thought sends a wave of nausea through him, but he grits his teeth, swallows it down. Takes a deep breath. And looks.</p><p>Slipping out from under the covers, his hands and arms are, at a first glance, exactly how he remembers them. They’re still there, all his fingers, slim and elegant. Sharp knuckles, a prominent wrist bone, light, almost invisible silver hairs running up his forearms.</p><p>(Long, strong fingers grasping his forearm, and a smile, and — something Essek pushes down, down, at the end of the list. Not entirely off it, but he can’t deal with this right now. One thing at a time.)</p><p>The relief that washes over him as he looks at his hands, whole and <em>there</em>, quickly turns sour when he tries to flex his fingers and they barely move. He tries again, with the same result, and a third time.</p><p>He winces in pain, shoving the panic down his throat as he tries to trace the somatic gestures of a spell, a simple cantrip.</p><p>And then panic rises again when, instead of the floating orbs of light he expects to appear, the room is lit with an aborted flash of pale indigo, and then it gets dark again.</p><hr/><p>There’s frost on the ground in the morning. The nights are chilly and clear and the days warm and sunny. There’s been three of each, so far. Essek has spent them all mostly inside, in what he now knows is a tiny hut they gave him, a depot for tools and old furniture — to grant him some privacy or to let him sulk in peace, he’s not sure. Maybe a bit of both.</p><p>He’s alive, but not well. He doesn’t want to think about it. His hands hurt less than they did on the first day, but not by much, and they’re still unnaturally stiff. The firbolgs left some health potions with him for the pain, but they won’t make his tendons and muscles less rigid. He still has some difficulty telling the firbolgs apart, but apparently he has one of them to thank for having all his fingers— ‘still’ or ‘again’ is, once more, unclear. He really, really doesn’t want to think about it.</p><p>He hasn’t told anyone about the aborted cantrip, but apparently he doesn’t need to.</p><p>The matriarch of the small clan of firbolgs — one of Caduceus’s elders, if the one who saved him was his sister — pats his knee under the blankets in a way that Essek supposes could be called motherly, when she checks in on him every morning. She takes his hands without asking, poking and prodding and bending and flexing with a gentle roughness. “You’re getting better. Give it time,” she tells him.</p><p>Essek doesn’t react to the lie, and she doesn’t seem to expect an answer. Good for her.</p><p>He hasn’t really spoken to anyone since they brought him back. Oh, the firbolgs talk to him, a few of them in particular have no problem doing so, but he can’t bring himself to pay attention to what they say. The thought of making small talk or — Light forbid — going outside is enough to make familiar dark vines of panic bloom in his chest, squeezing his lungs until he can’t breathe.</p><p>So he spends his days in the hut, wrapping himself in a blanket whenever he needs to go to the outhouse. He barely eats the food they bring him: the bread and fruit are sliced so he doesn’t have to use his hands to cut them up, both a reminder of his condition and a kindness he doesn’t deserve. It makes him lose what little appetite he has.</p><p>Sometimes he hears other voices — visitors, he assumes. He’s left undisturbed, and the gratitude he feels for that is sincere but weak. Sometimes he overhears them: they call this place ‘the Grove’, and they speak in quick, urgent tones of blights, strange trees and ruins. All this would have piqued his curiosity in a not so distant past. Now he just stares at the ceiling or at a wall, and lets it wash over him.</p><p>On the third day, though, the door of the hut is darkened by an unfamiliar figure. It’s not a firbolg: it would be hard to miss the bright halo above the head of the druid girl who saved his life. He remembers meeting her in Nicodranas. He forgot her name, but she hasn’t forgotten him.</p><p>“Still alive, it seems.”</p><p>Her tone is so sharp that Essek actually turns his head towards her. The firbolgs are patient, kind and upbeat. This woman sounds disappointed he’s still drawing breath.</p><p>Well. That makes two of them. “Not through any fault of my own,” he says, going back to staring at the ceiling. His voice sounds thick and raw, like someone had sandpapered the inside of his throat and left it to bleed and scar over. It’s the first time he’s spoken in three days.</p><p>The sparkly druid takes a step into the hut. Her presence makes the room feel even more cramped. “You know you have your friends to thank that you’re still alive.”</p><p>Essek’s self-deprecation hasn’t moved her. Not that he expected it to.</p><p>“Not only because Jester Scried on you after ‘the amulet went dark’,” she goes on. “Whatever that means. I went out of my way to save your life because they’re my friends, too, and they asked nicely, but they also told me what you did. I can still sense it in you.” She sniffs, but Essek knows she’s not talking about his smell. “You’re not a good person.”</p><p>Tired and indifferent as he is, Essek can’t help but laugh. It hurts, and he stops.</p><p>At the border of his peripheral vision, the druid crosses her arms. “Thought so. Well, they might trust you, but I don’t. Keep it in mind.”</p><p>“You’re wiser than them,” Essek replies.</p><p>A scoff. “You know, my principles are a bit more… nuanced, these days. Otherwise your head would have taken a vacation from your body the moment we found you in the snow.”</p><p>Essek resists the urge to tilt his head as if he had just received a backhanded compliment at a party. He closes his eyes instead.</p><p>He half expects the druid to change her mind and make good on her threat. There’s a pensive silence instead, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching the exit.</p><p>She closes the door behind her, leaving him once again alone with his ghosts.</p><hr/><p>He has time to think. So much time, actually. He relives the attack again and again. Could he have done something else? Would it have made a difference? He flexes his fingers, opening and closing his fists until his hands hurt, pain shooting up to his forearms. He should just have crushed them, destroyed them, instead of worrying about the integrity of his laboratory. It’s not like he’s going back there any time soon.</p><p>Something stayed his hand. He keeps turning this thought in his head over and over like a pebble, until it’s smooth and worn out. The wizards were young, inexperienced and set up to fail, which tells him something about the people who sent them. He gave them a chance to fight, flee, and survive instead of grinding them to a fine dust or crushing them to a pulp on sight. That was fair, in a way.</p><p><em>Are these the lies you tell yourself these days? </em>says a softly-accented voice in his head. Unlike before, though, this is all Essek’s imagination.</p><p>There are moments where nothing hurts, where he closes his eyes and sinks into a comforting darkness. Sometimes he sleeps, but not if he can help it. He doesn’t like to dream.</p><p>He’s not sure when he stops counting the days.</p><p>This is why he doesn’t know how much time has passed when the door of the hut slams open and a dry voice says, much louder than necessary, “That’s it. You’re getting out of here.”</p><p>Essek recognises the curt, put-out tone. This is the firbolg who found him in the snow, together with the druid. Her name is buried somewhere in his memory. There’s only the two of them and the room is small, he wants to say. There’s no need to shout. He turns his back to the door instead.</p><p>“Reani and I didn’t freeze our asses off to pull you back from the brink of death by the scruff of your neck, only to have you wilt in front of us like a cut flower. I’m serious.” The firbolg stomps inside and starts rummaging about. Determined to weather the storm, Essek doesn’t react until something is thrown on his face. His stiff, useless hands reach up and pull down some kind of cloth. “Get dressed and meet me outside. I swear, all this moping is making me miserable by association,” she adds, more to herself than to Essek.</p><p>“I won’t.” He sounds like a sulking child. He doesn’t care.</p><p>“Don’t make me carry you. You know I can. You’re weaker than a kitten.”</p><p>Before Essek can think of a suitable reply to that, the door is already slamming behind the firbolg, and he knows she’ll deliver on her threat.</p><p>Calliope. That’s her name. Calliope Clay. Not that he will do anything with this knowledge.</p><hr/><p>He’s familiar enough with the interior of the hut to know that there’s a pitcher of water and a basin not far from his cot. The room is so small that nothing is actually far from his cot, to be fair, but since his world has shrunk to little more than these four walls, his frame of reference has adapted, becoming more detailed, including the small things.</p><p>An inveterate habit from his youth prevents him from wearing clean clothes if he hasn’t cleaned himself first. His hands make the procedure slow and painful, but he tries to hurry up, lest an impatient firbolg walk in on him. He has time, however, to notice the fuzz on the back and the sides of his head. His hair has grown since he stopped shaving it. His mind supplies the math unprompted: he has to have been here for at least two weeks for it to grow this long.</p><p>The clothes Calliope tossed at him are not the ones he left his tower with, which he supposes were either ruined during his ordeal or deemed impractical for the Grove. The soft white tunic is sleeveless, and the sheer surcoat with his billowing sleeves looks more decorative than practical. He has to roll up the legs of his breeches. He’s wearing someone else’s clothes and he feels it. With a cursory search he finds his old boots at the foot of the bed, but his mantle is nowhere to be found. He misses it, the barrier it created between him and the outside. The nostalgia manifests itself with a physical pang in his chest. It’s the strongest emotion he’s felt in days.</p><p>The short, infrequent trips he made to the outhouse haven’t prepared him to keep up with the pace of an athletic and slightly pissed off firbolg, nor for the realisation that the hut is effectively on the outskirts of what looks like an ancient graveyard. The moss-covered stones and the overgrown lots are perfectly visible to him in the twilight gloom, and so is the dark-haired Calliope, who makes her way through the graveyard on what could be a path or simply the grooves between the graves.</p><p>This lush, unkempt place couldn’t be more different from the pristine gardens and walkways of Rosohna, but there’s something about it that feels purposeful, as if this is the exact way it’s supposed to be. The air is warm and fragrant, which would have made his mantle uncomfortable even if he had it; invisible birds call each other in the shrubbery, and the occasional beetle buzzes when it flies a little too close, making Essek’s ears flatten instinctively.</p><p>Several feet ahead of him, Calliope finally stops, turns around and stares. “That’s convenient,” she says, with a pointed look at Essek’s feet.</p><p>Following her gaze, he realises that he’s floating a few inches above the ground. He must have been too absorbed in his surroundings, because he doesn’t remember casting the spell. It’s the simplest spell he knows, something he used to cast every day for literally a century, but it’s the first time his magic has answered him since he came here.</p><p>Something sparks in his chest, an unfamiliar sensation, different from the hollowness he’s used to and from the sharp, searing pang of nostalgia he felt before. He pushes it aside, but gently and a bit gingerly, as if it would explode if manhandled. His whole self feels incredibly brittle right now.</p><p>Unaware or uncaring of what’s going on in his head, Calliope raises an eyebrow. “I wish I could learn how to do that. I have a few siblings who deserve to be pranked and that would help. A lot.” Then she turns and marches on.</p><p>Noticing now how the grass is just tickling the soles of his boots instead of hindering his steps, Essek follows silently.</p><p>Almost invisible among the tall grass and the leaves, not far from the ancient-looking stones that mark the burial sites, runs a fence that must encompass the entire grounds. Looking more closely, Essek sees it isn’t made of wood as he thought at first glance, but rusted iron.</p><p>It’s not the iron that catches his attention, however: the luminescent vines that cover a huge portion of it right in front of him are a little more interesting. The large, purplish leaves wouldn’t be worth a second look, if it weren’t for the faint glow they emit. Essek bets that it would be impossible to see during the day, but it’s unmistakable in the dim twilight.</p><p>His hand is outstretched before he knows what he’s doing. He stops with his fingertips hovering over a leaf. “Is it safe to touch?”</p><p>Calliope Clay’s shrug seems to carry a positive connotation; thus encouraged, Essek closes the distance and gently rubs a portion of the leaf between his fingertips.</p><p>No smell that he can sense. No residual luminescence on his pads, either. Weird magic has always captured his interest, but botany is far from being his speciality. This looks like a perfectly ordinary vine, if it weren’t for the fact that it glows in the dark. Several questions fight for prominence in his mind. “What’s this?” he asks, deciding to start with the simplest.</p><p>“I thought you would know, actually.”</p><p>Without tearing his eyes away from the vine, Essek scoffs.</p><p>“What? You’re supposed to be smart.”</p><p>He’s reluctant to look away from the plant, but eventually he looks at the firbolg. “Ah, yes. I’m an expert in everything arcane. I’m one of the most brilliant minds of my Den. I’ve spent my whole life learning how to manipulate the laws of gravity and sap the potential of unexplored timelines.” He makes a vague gesture, encompassing the thick vegetation surrounding them, teeming with a universe of tiny, unseen lives, and the mysterious glowing plant. “I’m utterly useless here.”</p><p>Calliope crosses her arms tightly. She’s short, for a firbolg, but she has a strong build. She definitely looks able to carry a slight, unconscious drow on her shoulders without much effort. “Well, <em>our</em> knowledge can’t explain this, and the Wildmother is being cagey about it, too, so I thought that maybe someone like you would have an inkling.” She takes a step forward, coming closer to Essek than she’s ever been tonight. Their shoulders almost brush as she mirrors his gesture from before, rubbing a large, thin leaf between her fingers. “It doesn’t feel evil.”</p><p>Essek blinks. He’s not sure about the academic viability of classifying things based on the <em>feeling</em>. “I suppose not,” he agrees diplomatically.</p><p>“These woods have been corrupted by weird magic shit since before my parents’ generation,” she goes on, matter-of-factly, “and this fence is enchanted to keep that darkness at bay.” She exhales from her nostrils. Her noises are expressive: this one is unmistakably sardonic. “Just like the larger fence before this, and the one surrounding it. But the crystals seem to work, for now.”</p><p>Essek arches his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation. “The crystals,” he echoes, when it becomes clear that she isn’t going to elaborate.</p><p>Calliope lets the leaf go and crosses her arms again. “Yep. Big, green pieces of rock that sprouted roots. Long story. Anyway, what do you do when a blight threatens to eat up your home and your god answers your prayers by dropping a weird, glowing rock with roots sprouting from it in your lap?”</p><p>Essek fixes his eyes on the plant with renewed interest. “You plant it,” he whispers. The cogs in his mind are whirring, tired and rusted for being left unused for so long. “A green crystal, you say?” This is fascinating. Does residuum have organic properties? What could make it the crystal behave like this, sprouting roots and growing into a glowing vine? “I will think about this. Although it’s going to be hard to come to any conclusion without access to a library, or…” He tries not to sound too disappointed as he casts another glance at the wilderness around them. “Civilisation, I suppose.”</p><p>Calliope doesn’t remark on his tone. On the contrary, she almost mirrors it when she murmurs, “Yeah, nothing like that around here.”</p><p>Raising his hands, Essek looks down at them meditatively. He doesn’t need them to cast the spell that would bring him back to the capital, or to any other city with a functional library or an archive. His spine straightens a little, then he deflates again and he lets his hands drop with a sigh. He would need them, though, to defend himself in case he’s attacked again.</p><p>“Don’t even think about it,” Calliope says, reading his thoughts as if his skull were made of glass. “You really are weaker than a kitten, and we promised we would keep an eye on you until it’s safe again.” When Essek looks at her with a question in his eyes, she arches an eyebrow. “We Clays keep our promises. It’s kind of our thing.”</p><p>“I’m sure it is,” he agrees hurriedly. “Who made you promise?”</p><p>“The fey king.” With a laugh that sounds more like a bark, Calliope rolls her eyes, clearly appalled that he had to ask. “Your friends, obviously.”</p><hr/><p>Several thoughts fight for his attention that night. Most of them have to do with the vines and the ‘blight’ that Calliope mentioned, which has to be rooted in ancient magic, since it seems to react in unpredictable ways to the equally unpredictable element of the residuum-born plants. He will have several questions for Calliope in the morning, hoping she hasn’t grown tired of him, or her family if worse comes to worst.</p><p>But he also thinks about the way she said that his friends want him alive and safe, as if Essek was especially dense to think otherwise. He remembers the druid — Reani, her name was Reani — talking about a spell leading their way to him, up in the Flotket Alps, and he pictures the Mighty Nein trying and failing to contact him, only for his tiefling friend to scry on him and the group piecing the story together, sending help his way. Without him noticing, his hand closes on the pendant he’s still wearing, opaque and useless, as he falls into a peaceful trance.</p><p>The next several days feel like using a limb that has gone numb, only it’s his mind. All in all, it’s nice to have something to focus on, and perhaps be of help in the process. On the first day, he wakes up from his trance feeling rested and restless at the same time. He’s still dressed from the night before, which saves him some time as he puts on his boots and walks out of the hut to a mercifully overcast sky.</p><p>He spends the whole day outside, following Calliope and her younger sister, a short, matchstick firbolg girl named Clarabelle, as they tend to the glowing vines and to the patch of land right outside the fence. When she saw him outside the hut, Calliope shot him a glance that could be charitably described as begrudgingly impressed, but didn’t comment further. Clarabelle just behaves like they’ve always known each other, except that she asks him so many questions that Calliope has to threaten to toss her into the hot springs with her clothes on if she doesn’t put a stop to it.</p><p>Weirdly, Essek doesn’t mind Calliope’s gruff protectiveness or Clarabelle’s chatter. Moreover, in the absence of a library, they’re two precious sources of information.</p><p>He looks towards the trees clustered a few yards past the fence. The bark looks unhealthily greyish in the low light that filters from the clouds and the thick canopy of twisted branches. When he tried to get closer, at one point, he finally got what Calliope meant last night about how a plant could feel evil. “I imagine you and your family know these woods quite well.”</p><p>“We know to stay clear of it,” she answers, tossing her braid over her shoulder as she darts a hostile look towards the woods. The large, rusted shears she’s holding look dangerous in her hands. “Nothing good comes out of that place.”</p><p>“It’s cursed,” Clarabelle adds cheerfully, from where she’s uprooting weeds at the base of the glowing vine. “It’s because of the ruins,” she adds, after winning a tug of war with a stubborn root.</p><p>Essek is getting tired of getting his information in bits and pieces, but he guesses he’s in no position to argue. Still, he’s tempted to shake the Clay sisters until they spill out everything. “What ruins?” he asks calmly.</p><p>With a last glance at the blighted woods, Calliope turns once more towards the fence. “Have you heard of Molaesmyr?” she asks, reaching up to chop an overhanging branch. It’s a garden variety plant, literally, nothing ominous, but she’s encroaching on the glowing vine territory.</p><p>Essek has, in fact, heard of Molaesmyr. “Are we close to the place where the city fell?”</p><p>“Relatively so. The ruins are far north.”</p><p>“We could go there, one day,” Clarabelle adds. She’s sitting cross-legged on the ground, now, her task entirely forgotten as she watches a beetle crawl on the back of her hand, his shell glinting and shining like an emerald.</p><p>The sound of Calliope’s shears closing on another branch is stark and loud. “Or maybe we could risk our lives another time, what do you say?”</p><p>Clarabelle blinks, uncrossing her eyes when the bright green bug buzzes away. She makes eye contact with Essek and smiles at him. He doesn’t know what that smile means, and he’s not entirely reassured by it. He’s taken for granted that, being the youngest, Clarabelle must also be young, but at the rate firbolgs age, she could easily be as old as his younger brother, or even himself. He needs to remind himself to not treat her like a child, for both their sakes.</p><p>When Reani comes to visit the next day, she finds the three of them tending to another portion of the fence, where a second glowing vine grows. Today the clouds are not dense enough to block the sunlight, and Essek has been persuaded by Clarabelle to accept her straw hat. It’s large and undignified, but it serves the purpose, and it reminds him of another gift in kind that he wishes he still had with him.</p><p>The druid shoots Essek a wary glare, and he has to make an effort to avoid flinching when she steps closer.</p><p>“Callie told me she put you on research duty,” she says, handing him a satchel. “I found a few books. I can’t read them, but maybe you do.”</p><p>Essek is not fooled: this is not a peace offering, and it probably has more to do with ‘Callie’ asking a favor than with him. Still, he takes the satchel, which is hefty, its strap weighing on his shoulder in a reassuring way. “What do you make of this?” he dares to ask, pointing towards the glowing vine with his chin.</p><p>Reani takes an uncomfortably long time to peel her gaze away from him, but eventually she seems to consider the question. She points a thumb towards the woods, with its gnarled, grayish-purple branches. “Those are mean.” Then she points at the glowing vines. “These are friends.”</p><p>Well. It’s not like Essek expected a scholarly treatise or a local history rundown, but he still feels disappointed. “Your analysis is noted,” he says, with a gracious nod.</p><p>When Calliope announces she’s taking a break and walks away with Reani, Essek can’t help but notice the way their heads lean towards each other as they whisper. They wait until they think they’re out of sight to hold hands, but the way they gravitate towards each other would be impossible to mistake even for someone with less insight.</p><p>“They’re so in love it’s a bit disgusting,” Clarabelle comments, with the subtlety of a brick. Or a younger sibling, perhaps. Refreshing, in a way.</p><p>He hovers towards a nearby low dry-stone wall and sits down. “I wouldn’t really know.”</p><p>Once again cross-legged on the grass, Clarabelle picks a flower and examines it from various angles. “Me neither.” Satisfied with the flower, she picks another and starts weaving their stalks together with quick, complicated motions. “But I see my sister and Reani, and my parents. I haven’t decided yet if I want something like that or not.”</p><p>Essek doesn’t feel like he has much to contribute to the conversation. “It can be a lot of trouble.” It certainly has been for him, he thinks grimly.</p><p>“I only ever talk to mushrooms and flowers and birds,” Clarabelle continues, weaving in more flowers in what is starting to look like a hoop. Her siblings and parents apparently don’t count, Essek notices. “I wouldn’t even know how to behave around someone I like that way.”</p><p>“I understand,” Essek finds himself saying. He frowns, then shakes his head. Unburdening his heart to a weird firbolg girl wasn’t how he thought his day would go, but his life doesn’t make a lot of sense recently, and he likes Clarabelle. This might as well happen. “I don’t know if I can say exactly what love is,” he says, slowly, “but for me it looks like… forgiveness.”</p><p>Pausing in her weaving for a moment, Clarabelle tilts her head, considering his words. Then she sighs. “But what would you even say to them?”</p><p><em>What do you need? What can I do to prove myself? How can I help? </em>“I don’t know,” he answers. “What do you think?”</p><p>“I don’t know!” she echoes. “Something nice, maybe. A compliment.”</p><p>Essek can’t help but smirk. “I’m good at lying.”</p><p>Clarabelle reaches out to swat at his boot, the only part of him she can reach, but she’s laughing. “No, something you <em>really </em>think! And you mix it with something less nice, so they know you mean it. It’s not hard.” She frowns for a moment, then her forehead smooths. “For example, I think that you’re really nice, for someone with a stick that deep up his ass.”</p><p>Essek is taken aback for a second, before the courtier in him emerges. In his most polite tone, he replies, “And you have a way with words, for someone who only ever talks to mushrooms.”</p><hr/><p>He runs into Reani as he’s making his way back to the hut. Calliope is nowhere to be seen, and Essek has the feeling that their meeting is not entirely coincidental.</p><p>“I’m keeping an eye for anything suspicious around here,” she tells him without preambles. “It’s all clear, so far. If you ignore the evil woods and the festering lair of lawlessness in Shadycreek, that is.”</p><p>A vague sense of unease creeps in Essek’s chest as he registers the implications of those words. He schools his expression into neutrality. “Were you expecting trouble?”</p><p>She shoots him a disappointed look. Wrong answer. “Aren’t you supposed to be smart? Even without knowing the details, which, by the way, would be really helpful… it’s clear you were attacked. Magic acts a bit weird around here, and Callie assured me that the Wildmother protects this place, which I hope means you can’t be easily located, but if they tried to get rid of you once, I don’t see why they shouldn’t try again.” The dread must show on Essek’s face by now, because Reani scoffs. “You hadn’t even asked yourself if you were putting these folks in danger until now, hadn’t you?” She pats him on the shoulder as she passes by him, making him sway where he’s rooted on the spot. “Well, good job in developing a conscience, I guess. Keep at it.”</p><hr/><p>The fact that he’s still a target — that Reani and possibly Calliope are keeping an eye out for danger, and that the Clays have always known they could be collateral damage in a matter that should never have involved them to begin with — shouldn’t be an epiphany. Reani is right: he’s supposed to be smart. All his navel-gazing has led him to just… stop thinking.</p><p>He squares his jaw. <em>That’s it, Thelyss.</em> As he takes a deep breath, he focuses on what to do. He needs a plan. He needs knowledge. Raising his hands, he flexes his fingers, balling them into fists for five seconds before the pain comes. That’s longer than a week ago. Still bad, but better.</p><p>He’s massaging his knuckles as he walks in the hut, pushing the door open with his shoulder, so deep in thought that he doesn’t notice he has guests until the person sitting on his cot clears his throat.</p><p>“I apologize. There were no chairs,” says a softly accented voice.</p><p>Essek’s gasp dies in his throat. He stands completely still as his vision quickly adjusts to the half-light, allowing him to see the familiar shape of Caleb Widogast, in his hut, large as life and completely incongruous.</p><p>All the things he wants to say, everything he wants to do — apologies, explanations, the overwhelming instinct to throw himself at Caleb just to see if he’s solid, if he’s real — Essek reins it all in. He only has the presence of mind of taking Clarabelle’s hat off, tossing it on a pile of gardening tools without looking.</p><p>“Hello,” Caleb says, softly. “You are safe.”</p><p>It sounds like a prayer as well as an observation, and Essek’s next exhale is shaky. He finally takes a step forward, and Caleb stands up, but he doesn’t get closer.</p><p>He looks different. His clothes are new, at least to Essek. Travel-worn and unadorned, but the fabric and the leathers are of high quality. Essek can picture him blending in among the Empire’s upper echelons. His heart aches at the thought that it’s been so long since the last time they talked to each other that he can only guess what Caleb has been up to. That he has changed without him knowing.</p><p>Essek allows these thoughts to exist for another moment before setting them aside. “You are too, I see.” After a moment, he dares to take another step, studying Caleb’s face, the new lines marking new worries. “You look tired.” It slips out before Essek can bite his tongue. “But the beard suits you,” he hastens to add. Oh, Light. He’s not going to tell Clarabelle about this conversation.</p><p>If Caleb notices that he’s uncharacteristically bumbling, he doesn’t remark on it. “I don’t have much time. I don’t want to leave our friends alone for too long. Let’s sit down for a minute.”</p><p>They sit in the only available place, which is the cot, at a healthy distance from each other. It’s easier than being close, where the temptation to reach out would drown out everything else. If Caleb took the time and the risk to Teleport here, he must have an urgent reason. Essek tries not to stare at him, but his attention is caught by a glint on Caleb’s chest, where among the shirt’s folds he sees something familiar.</p><p>Essek blinks, speechless and confused and — not hopeful, he can’t afford hope. <em>Stay focused, Thelyss. </em>The fact that Caleb is still wearing the pendant Essek made for him, even if the enchantment is gone, even if it doesn’t serve any purpose anymore, doesn’t have to mean anything.</p><p>Essek claws the fabric of his tunic, realizing that Caleb is studying him as well. When they finally make eye contact, the look in Caleb’s eyes has softened a bit, but when he speaks his voice is low and urgent. “What happened?”</p><p>Essek takes a deep breath and tells him. He doesn’t omit anything. He sees Caleb’s frown deepen and his expression turn grim. He nods once when Essek explains why he broke the enchantment on the pendant; he must have figured it out himself by now.</p><p>When he stops talking and Caleb just looks at him, all the doubts Essek was harboring come to the surface. “I had to do that,” he says, words just tumbling out of him, “to save myself. To save you. I had no choice.”</p><p>“I know,” Caleb says eventually.</p><p>Essek doesn’t feel relieved. “Do you have news? From Rosohna?” he asks, changing the subject.</p><p>“Yes. Only rumors, but from reliable sources. They believe you’re dead.”</p><p>“But they must know I’m not.” Yes, his laboratory was wrecked, but there was no body. In their shoes, he wouldn’t have been satisfied by such an easy explanation. “They must have tried to Scry on me.”</p><p>“If they did, they either couldn’t see you or they thought you were as good as dead.” Caleb reaches out, taking his hand, and Essek holds his breath. But then he feels a small weight in his palm. Caleb closes his fingers on it, holds them for a moment, then takes his own hands back. “Take this, just in case they decide to make your alleged death more permanent.”</p><p>When he opens his hand, there’s an amulet in Essek’s palm. Amber-coloured, eye-shaped, cold.</p><p>“It will keep you safe. Safer than you are now, in any case.”</p><p>“Caleb…” Essek starts. The skin on his hands is still tingling from the brief contact, and he reaches out before he can think better of it, but Caleb moves his hand out of reach, avoiding Essek’s gaze.</p><p>“I was like them, once.”</p><p>Essek takes his hand back. He wants to touch Caleb, to comfort him, but he’s the last person Caleb would want to do that. “But they were not you,” he replies, with emphasis. “If I have to lie and kill to protect you, I will do it without a second thought. You know that. If I have to do the dirty work so you won’t have to…”</p><p>“You don’t <em>have </em>to, Essek.” When he finally looks at him, Caleb’s eyes are sad. “I’m not asking you to.” He looks at the hand holding the amulet, then nods to himself once and stands up.</p><p>Essek knows what’s going to happen, and he lets it. Caleb won’t stay just because he asks him to. He won’t let Essek go with him. There’s nothing to be done about it.</p><p>Caleb’s back is turned to him, but he hesitates before Teleporting away. “Just… stay safe,” he says. “And be here when I come back.”</p><hr/><p>Essek is stewing in frustration. His hands keep flying to his chest, where Caleb’s amulet lies under his clothes along with the glass pearl that doesn’t serve any purpose anymore, except as a reminder. Of what, he’s not certain.</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>From the way Clarabelle is looking at him, Essek suspects he’s been lost in thought for an awkward amount of time. He’s momentarily annoyed with her presence and considers calling everything off so he can sulk in peace.</p><p>“Yes, of course,” he says instead, flexing his fingers. “Let’s try again.”</p><p>With the straw hat reluctantly on, he went looking for Clarabelle first thing in the morning after a restless night. He’s tired of being helpless, but he cannot be of use in any circumstance if he can’t do magic properly. When he asked her if there was a quiet spot where he could practice — he doesn’t want to wreak havoc in the hut if something goes awry — the young firbolg silently took his hand and led him to what Essek initially classified as a pond, before noticing the steam coiling above the water.</p><p>Instead of leaving, Clarabelle sat on the polished slates on the edge of the hot springs and rolled up her sleeves and pants, occasionally dipping her hands or feet in the water. After the initial discomfort, Essek found himself enjoying having a captive audience who cheered at his attempts of making rocks levitate and casting floating lights.</p><p>While her hand goes straight through an incorporeal globule of bright indigo light, Clarabelle tilts her head. “Why are you lying?” There’s no malice in her tone, only genuine curiosity.</p><p>Essek would usually dissimulate, lie again, pretend he doesn’t know what she’s talking about. But, if he’s honest with himself, he’s tired of that. “I don’t know.” He shrugs, taking a break to shake his hands off. They tremble slightly, but they don’t hurt that much. And most of the simple spells with a somatic component he has attempted have worked, which is the important part. “Habit, I suppose.”</p><p>Clarabelle doesn’t say anything, but she keeps looking at him.</p><p>Essek sighs. “Where I come from, honesty will be used against you. Lies are both your weapon and your armor. Honesty makes you weak. Vulnerable.”</p><p>Clarabelle tilts her head. “There’s nothing really wrong with that, though, is it? We’re all weak and vulnerable in some way or another.” She hugs her knees to her chest and flicks her fingers in the water, watching the ripples. “That’s why we have families. To protect each other.”</p><p>Essek almost scoffs. Of course young, sweet, naive Clarabelle with her loving, close-knit, quirky family would say that. He opens his mouth to say that his family are exactly the people he needs to protect himself from, but nothing comes out.</p><p>Because now he’s thinking of another family. Of smiles and open arms and friendly banter and repeated invitations to come around for dinner. Of generous compliments, of an unfamiliar kind of manipulation, not made of veiled threats and promises of blackmail, but touches and shared knowledge and soft, honest smiles. So close to genuine friendship that it somehow turned into the real thing without him noticing.<em> Be here when I come back. </em>Which could be a request or another way of saying, <em>Give me something to come back to.</em></p><p>He closes his mouth. Oblivious to his thoughts, Clarabelle keeps making ripples on the pool’s surface, while he stays silent, thinking.</p><p>For the longest time, Essek thought that he was only worth what prestige and power he could bring to his Den. He contested many things, but never this: his research, his position, the risks he took, he did it all as Essek of Den Thelyss. He never doubted who he was.</p><p>Now, though, these doubts take up so much space they don’t leave room for anything else. He cannot do anything for the people he cares about the most. And, if he cannot act, all he’s left with is… himself. And who is he, if not the Shadowhand of the Kryn Dynasty, the dunamantic prodigy, the most brilliant mind of his den?</p><p>He’s the man who accepted a pink parasol and an invitation to step into a hot tub. He’s a teacher and a friend. He’s a betrayer of a trust that was not less heartfelt just because it was freely given. And he wants to do better. He will do better.</p><p>For now, he will settle for knowing that his friends are okay.</p><p>He waits until dark. Sitting on his cot, clutching the opaque glass pearl in his fist, Essek closes his eyes and focuses on its twin.</p><p>When he opens his eyes again, his body is still in the Grove, but what he sees in front of him is not the door of his hut. The Scry spell’s limitations make his vision warped and fuzzy, but he can see the area around the pendant well enough to ascertain that yes, Caleb is still wearing it.</p><p>The relief that floods Essek in seeing him again lasts only for a moment, before he realises that Caleb’s face is bloody, his features twisted half in pain and half in a determined grimace.</p><p>Essek keeps looking for a moment longer, frozen in terror, before he hears a voice, a woman’s, barely loud enough for him to understand what she’s saying.</p><p>“You never should have come here.”</p><p>It’s not a threat. Her tone is agonised, and there are tears in her voice. The next thing Essek hears is Caleb screaming in pain.</p><p>He reflexively ends the Scry, physically backing away from the vision until he hits the wall behind him.</p><p>Trying to catch his breath, Essek tries to make sense of what he’s just seen, but he doesn’t have enough information to piece it all together. Where is Caleb, and why isn’t he defending himself? Who’s the woman attacking him, and why are they fighting? Why did she sound like she was crying?</p><p>It’s not nearly enough to formulate a plan, come up with a tactic. But what’s the alternative?</p><p>Essek needs to do something, anything. Maybe he can be a distraction, give Caleb the chance of getting out of there alive. He told him he was ready to kill for him and their friends, after all. Essek doesn’t want to die, but he would do whatever it takes to protect his family.</p><p>His voice catches at the beginning of the incantation, so he starts over. The dark room is suddenly brightened by a pattern of lines and circles crossing and expanding on the floor, and Essek feels the familiar pull as the spell is completed.</p><p>He exhales the breath he’s holding in a well-lit interior. A quick glance tells him that he’s not standing in a room but a corridor, a few heavy doors opening on the right side, huge glass windows on the left. The walls are high, decorated with mirrors and paintings but otherwise plain. Some sort of palace or residence, probably.</p><p>The window panes are dark, and a few of them are broken, letting the chill night air in. Several lamps and candles, some of them toppled over on the floor, cast a stark light on the broken shards of polished wood that was once furniture, and on the shards of glass scattered on the marble floor.</p><p>Essek takes this all in in less than a second, before focusing his attention on the woman in front of him. He’s never seen her before, but the barely-contained orb of pure energy crackling in the palm of her hand is enough to confirm that she’s at least partially responsible for the destruction around them.</p><p>The woman’s surprise in seeing him bamf into existence without warning is possibly the one thing that saves him. She hesitates for a split second before casting her spell, giving Essek enough time to counter it.</p><p>He lifts his hand entirely by instinct, his stiff fingers almost moving on their own to trace the quick signs that make the blast of energy fizzle out before it can strike. It shocks him a little when it works. It’s like wearing clothes that don’t belong to him anymore, but still fit perfectly. It feels good.</p><p>Somewhere behind him, someone gasps. Essek doesn’t turn around, just takes a step forward, tracing a different somatic gesture with his raised hand, and smiles as the woman lifts off the ground, her feet kicking helplessly in the empty air. She tries to speak, but no words leave her mouth as she finds out that she cannot breathe.</p><p>Essek doesn’t suppose it’s pleasant. His heart is filled with grim satisfaction at the thought.</p><p>“Don’t…” Behind his back, Caleb coughs. “Don’t hurt her.”</p><p>The meaning of his words settles in just a moment before Essek can close his hand into a fist and crush the woman like a piece of paper. He keeps her where she is, but he looks over his shoulder at Caleb.</p><p>While he was scrying on the pendant, Essek only saw Caleb’s face. Now he realises he’s lying on the floor, his Empire clothes torn and bloody and scorched, a hand pressed on his side, scratches and angry burns on every bit of exposed skin. He’s breathing carefully, as if each intake of air caused him pain.</p><p>He looks up at Essek, taking in his perplexity, but he doesn’t take back what he just said.</p><p>Essek exhales a frustrated sigh as he looks back at the woman. She stares back at him, their eyes locking for a moment. She has short, dark, messy hair, and her clothes are in worse condition than Caleb’s, but despite the fact that she seemed intent on killing them both, there are tear marks on her face and the look in her eyes is absolutely at odds with her demeanour.</p><p>Despite the spell holding her, her right hand twitches. Essek knows that the safest thing would be to kill her now and ask questions later.</p><p>With another sigh, he slowly traces a few runes in the air with his other hand as he murmurs the corresponding incantation. He’s careful and thorough: he feels his hand tremble as he completes the Temporal Shunt.</p><p>When the woman vanishes, he knows the spell worked. A small amount of tension leaves his shoulders as he turns around, the sheer fabric of his surcoat swishing around him with a flourish. “We don’t have much time,” he says, kneeling beside Caleb. “She’s alive,” he reassures him reluctantly, when Caleb starts to protest. “I promise. Just… elsewhere for the time being.”</p><p>He doesn’t know if Caleb believes him — and it shouldn’t sting, really. Essek cannot expect to be believed without question after everything that happened. He tries to be careful as he props Caleb up, supporting his weight and wincing in sympathy at his pained grunt.</p><p>As soon as Caleb is sitting up, Essek rifles through the supplies he hurriedly gathered in his pocket dimension before leaving. “Here,” he says, uncorking a health potion with his teeth and bringing the vial close to Caleb’s lips. His hand is still shaking.</p><p>There’s just a moment of hesitation before Caleb drinks, and Essek smiles to hide the hurt. If he wanted Caleb dead, it would be less complicated to just sit back and leave him here.</p><p>For a moment, he considers the idea of just teleporting the two of them to safety, but he doesn’t know the full story yet. “Tell me how I can be of use,” he says instead.</p><p>“Where is Astrid?” Caleb whispers.</p><p>So the woman has a name, and Caleb knows it. “She’ll be back shortly. She won’t be hurt, I promise.”</p><p>“She is being forced to kill me,” Caleb finally explains. He grasps Essek’s forearm. “Mind-controlled. She’s on our side. She betrayed the Assembly.”</p><p>Essek nods as he takes in the information. “Then we need to find a way of breaking the spell.”</p><p>The hold on his arm intensifies. “You… you need to go back.”</p><p>“I can help,” Essek replies before Caleb finishes the sentence. “I just saved your life, Widogast.”</p><p>Caleb narrows his eyes and tries to scoff, but he grunts and clutches his side. “I had everything under control.”</p><p>Instead of dignifying that with an answer, Essek takes a second healing potion from his wristpocket and pushes it in Caleb’s hand, ignoring his protests. “We don’t have time to discuss,” he reiterates. “Just tell me what you need me to do. Me leaving is not an option.”</p><p>“The others are further on,” Caleb says eventually. He still hasn’t let go of Essek’s arm, and Essek is still holding him upright. “We were chasing them down, but they turned Astrid against us. Against me,” he adds, with a grimace. “I was holding her back.”</p><p>Essek nods again. “I can help with that.” As Caleb turns his head towards the other end of the corridor, the one Astrid was preventing him from reaching, Essek realizes his assumption is wrong. “I can hold her back,” he amends. “You can go help the others.”</p><p>Before Caleb can protest, Essek shoves a third — and last — healing potion in his hands and he stands up, helping him along.</p><p>“I know I won’t be able to convince you otherwise, just like you won’t convince me to go away. But, Caleb.” Breaking his resolution to keep his feelings bottled and hidden, tucked safely away like volatile spell components, Essek raises a hand and cups Caleb’s cheek. The beard scratches his palm, and Caleb’s cheekbone is wet and sticky with blood and soot when he swipes his thumb on it. “Be there when I come back,” he whispers. It’s not the logical thing to say, but he hopes that Caleb will know what he means.</p><p>He holds his breath when Caleb leans imperceptibly against his palm. Then he’s gone, running to the other side of the corridor. Essek straightens his back and takes a deep breath as he watches him go, and he ignores the way his hands shake more and more as he prepares a spell, waiting for the Temporal Shunt to end and bring Astrid back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>My characterisation of the Clays is 99% headcanon, I hope we'll get to see them more in-game. As well as, you know, a certain floating wizard.</p><p>Thanks for reading and take care!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Essek’s hands hurt.</p><p>He’s stranded in an unknown place, in a foreign land, in the middle of a fight he knows nothing about, and his hands hurt too much for him to cast anything more complicated than a cantrip.</p><p>He grits his teeth, wishing something would happen already. He’s scared and in pain, yes, but he’s also tired of waiting.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As I slowly but surely make progress on my other WIP, here's the last instalment of what I call the "Essek has life-changing discussions with a bunch of my favourite NPCs" fic.</p><p>(Also, and I'm saying this in the least spoilery way possible, there's a reason for the absence of a Main Character Death tag.)</p><p>My deepest gratitude, as always, to my friend <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Criticalpancake/pseuds/Criticalpancake">Pancake</a>, who beta'ed this, for being the kindest and for always cheering me on. I hope you all enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Essek’s hands hurt.</p><p>He’s stranded in an unknown place, in a foreign land, in the middle of a fight he knows nothing about, and his hands hurt too much for him to cast anything more complicated than a cantrip.</p><p>Still, he takes a short, shuddering breath as he prepares for the Empire mage to come back. He casts a quick glance around him, looking for hiding places behind broken furniture, or debris he could use as a weapon if all else fails.</p><p>He doesn’t have Caleb’s infallible internal clock to tell him how long he has before his enemy — no, not an enemy: Caleb called the woman Astrid, and he refused to harm her even after she hurt him again, and again, and again — before <em>Astrid </em>pops back into existence. He grits his teeth, wishing it would happen already. He’s scared and in pain, yes, but he’s also tired of waiting.</p><p>When she finally materialises in front of him, almost losing her balance as her feet touch the ground again, Essek takes a deep breath and raises a hand towards the oblivious mage, willing it to stop shaking. She mustn’t suspect he’s helpless.</p><p>But Astrid barely considers him as she looks around. “Where is he?” It’s barely a whisper, and not a question Essek is about to answer.</p><p>When she finally looks at him, her eyes are wide with panic but filled with determination, and quickly take in his features. Essek thinks he sees some kind of recognition, and he tries not to recoil as fear grips him. Does she know about him? Has Caleb told her…</p><p>“Dynasty magic,” she says instead, letting him know the true nature of the calculations going on behind those sharp eyes.</p><p>“Indeed,” Essek replies, trying to keep his voice confident and even. “So don’t try any—”</p><p>Something hopeful and desperate makes its way into Astrid’s voice as she interrupts him. “You can stop me, then. You <em>must </em>stop me.”</p><p>Even if Essek had any intention of telling her that he wouldn’t be able to do much, even if he knew how, he doesn’t have the time. Apparently piecing together the answer to her question — <em>Where is he? </em>— she turns around and runs to the other end of the corridor.</p><p>To the door where Caleb disappeared barely a minute ago.</p><p>It’s muscle memory, nothing else. Afterwards, he won’t be able to tell if he did that because it was his best chance or because he had no other options.</p><p>In any case, he finds himself holding his breath as gravity readjusts and bends to his will around the slight, black-clad figure of Astrid.</p><p>She doesn’t stop. But she slows down.</p><p>Essek blinks and exhales, almost surprised that it worked. Then he shakes himself, dodging the debris as he runs down the corridor and interposes himself between her and the door.</p><p>The woman stares at him and takes a slow step. Too slow to reach him, but she still has her magic.</p><p>“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says.</p><p>Astrid’s response is a growl as magic starts shimmering between her clenched fists. “It’s the only way.”</p><p>Ignoring the pain, Essek flexes his fingers. He knows she’s right. He doesn’t know which spell she’s under, but none of the alternatives are good. Her will is not her own, she has no power over her actions, but she has control over her thoughts.</p><p>Overcoming his survival instinct, Essek relaxes his fingers and lowers his hands. “No.” He recalls the look on Caleb’s face, the way he refused to hurt her. “I can teleport the both of us far away from here.”</p><p>“I’d have to be willing to go with you, and you know it,” Astrid spits out, her magic now humming audibly, barely kept in check. “Besides, I would just come right back.”</p><p>Crackling bolts of energy shoot towards him, and once again his instincts save him. His left hand lifts on its own, throwing up a Shield that easily deflects the magic bolt aimed for him. It’s a weak attack, but he has no way of knowing if Astrid is trying to spare her magic for Caleb or if she’s tapped out. He can’t risk making assumptions.</p><p>It’s a simple spell, but it comes with a price. The pain comes in waves through his fingers, up his wrists, and it must show on his face, because Astrid’s expression is almost disgusted. “You’re hurt.”</p><p>Instead of ignoring it, Essek focuses on the pain to stay present. “I’m sorry this is going against your expectations.”</p><p>What can he do? Even if he wanted, he can<em>not</em> attack her. He wonders if he’ll be able to at least counterspell whatever Astrid is going to cast at him next. He guesses he’ll find out soon enough.</p><p>But he hesitated for too long, because with her next step Astrid is close enough to lunge at him. Even slowed, her weight is enough to make Essek stumble, and most importantly to make him lose his concentration.</p><p>They both fall on the floor, among the debris. Something sharp pokes into Essek’s back, and something else hits his nose. Blinded by pain, Essek feels warm blood trickle on his lips.</p><p>Finally free from the gravity shackles that were weighing her down, Astrid tries to stand up and reach the door. But even dazed and helpless as he is, Essek can slow her. His arms close around her waist and he holds on. “I’m afraid I cannot let you go,” he says, barely dodging an elbow that would have hit him in the face again. “And I cannot break the spell on my own.”</p><p>“You’re useless.” The next time Astrid tries to hit him, her elbow collides with Essek’s nose a second time.</p><p>The pain is so strong that he lets her go. His hands are full of tears and he barely hears her scramble to her feet in an effort to reach the door, to reach Caleb. He stretches a hand out blindly and he grasps something.</p><p>Astrid yelps when electricity flows from Essek’s weak, abused hands into the flesh of her ankle. It’s a paltry cantrip, something he pieced together as a kid during an especially boring private lesson. But it’s enough, as it literally shocks her into stopping.</p><p>This is the moment his hand gives up, and he lets her go, falling on his back. He tastes blood down his throat, and it hurts when he speaks, but he does nonetheless. “You can break… this. Find… your better self, Astrid.”</p><p>He expects her to shake off the effects of the electrical shock and get back on her feet, but all he can hear is heavy breathing. Then a deep, trembling sigh, and something falling on the floor.</p><p>Cautiously, slowly, Essek pulls himself up on an elbow, dabbing at his nose with a sleeve. When he looks at it, the gauzy fabric is stained a deep red. Perfect. He doesn’t know if eventually people will stop trying to kill or hurt him, but evidently today’s not that day.</p><p>He looks at the Empire mage. The woman is lying on the floor, her chest rising and falling slowly. She looks like a doll that a careless child has thrown away, but she’s alive, and most importantly she’s not trying to run anymore.</p><p>He tries to speak and fails. After overcoming a small, pointless internal resistance, he clears his throat and spits something disgusting and bloody on the tiles, then he tries again. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>“Awful.” Her chest heaves when she takes a deep breath. “But myself. You?”</p><p>Essek would laugh, but he suspects it would hurt too much. “I’ve been better.”</p><p>He tenses instinctively when he sees her moving, but she just sits up. He would offer his help, but even if he could give it, he doesn’t think it would be well received.</p><p>She holds his gaze for a few seconds. He notices her severe features and her eyes made of iron again, but now she allows a sliver of vulnerability to come through. Essek knows these are all the thanks and the apologies he’ll get, and he’s happy with it. This is easy to handle. This is a language he understands.</p><p>Her sigh sounds exhausted. Essek can relate to that.</p><p>“We should go,” he says anyway.</p><p>“Where?”</p><p>“I don’t know.” With his arms resting on his knees, Essek looks at the door at the end of the corridor. After crossing the threshold, Caleb didn’t bother closing it, so it stands slightly ajar. Even so, he can’t make out anything beyond it. “To help.”</p><p>Astrid scoffs. “You aren’t in a fit state to help <em>yourself</em>, drow. What good could you do against the most powerful wizards in the Empire?”</p><p>“Essek,” he says. When she frowns, he adds, “My name is Essek.”</p><p>Her expression turns from puzzled to contemplative as she takes a better look at him. “The Shadowhand?”</p><p>Of course. If she was part of the Assembly, she would have done her research, at the very least. Maybe she even knows about the Beacons. Essek is surely not about to ask.</p><p>He smiles and hisses when the movement sends a sharp jab of pain to his nose. “Not anymore.”</p><p>Astrid’s <em>mh </em>is half amused, half sceptical. “You’ll have to tell me the whole story, one day.”</p><p>Essek doubts such a day will ever come. “We have our hands full, at the moment.”</p><p>She doesn’t argue.</p><p>With some difficulty, Essek pulls himself to his feet and takes stock of himself. His nose is still tender but it isn’t bleeding much anymore. His hands are in no better shape than they were before. He’s going to be of very little use in a battle.</p><p>But he will do what he can.</p><p>“You’re free. You can do what you want,” he tells Astrid. “But I am going after them.”</p>
<hr/><p>The silence is worrying.</p><p>It’s not hard to follow the trail of the battle. From the furniture and the decor, the occasional glimpses he gets through the windows, and Astrid’s words, Essek guesses this is some important building in the Empire’s capital, some palace or central building, maybe even part of Castle Ungebroch itself.</p><p>He could be in the Nine Hells, for all he cares. He’s not going back until he finds his friends.</p><p>He’s cautious but fast, going from corridor to room to more corridors, ready for a surprise attack or to see a body left as collateral damage on the floor. He doesn’t know what he fears the most. He keeps going.</p><p>And then, at the end of the trail, there’s the door.</p><p>It’s at the end of another long corridor. All the lamps are burning so bright in their sconces that it’s almost hard to look at them: magic, or the aftereffect of it. The door is huge, two large wooden panels reinforced with iron that go from floor to ceiling, and it’s closed. There’s no handle that he can see.</p><p>He’s about to lay a palm flat on the wooden panel when a voice startles him.</p><p>“Wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He turns to see Astrid strolling down the brightly-lit corridor, pulling up her sleeves to reveal her forearms. “Don’t they teach you the basic safety protocols in the Dynasty? No wonder you were losing the war.”</p><p>Essek would set that record straight, but the war is not a topic he’s eager to discuss. And part of him is too relieved that Astrid has followed him to antagonise her. “You were quick.”</p><p>She makes her way up to where he’s standing, staring intently at the door. Now that she’s closer, Essek sees that her forearms are covered in a maze of thick black lines, which flare up slightly as she raises her hands without quite touching the wood. Interesting. Her eyes glow as she casts a familiar spell. “It’s trapped and warded,” she says after a minute, letting her hands drop.</p><p>Essek turns towards the door. “How do we get inside?”</p><p>“We don’t. Whoever closed it didn’t want anyone past this point.”</p><p>They stand side by side, staring at the door.</p><p>“Who do you think did it?” asks Essek.</p><p>“They didn’t leave a signature.”</p><p>“An informed opinion, then. Since you’re… intimate with both parties.”</p><p>Astrid arches an eyebrow and seems about to retort, but then she thinks better about it. “I don’t know,” she says quietly. “It could be either one. To keep any backup away, or to protect us.” She sighs, running both hands through her hair. “I <em>told </em>him it would go wrong.”</p><p>Essek’s dry laugh has no mirth in it. “You were right.”</p><p>“That doesn't make it any less frustrating.”</p><p>Essek recognises the hollow ring in her voice. It betrays the same feeling he’s feeling. “I know.”</p><p>He steps away from the door and walks down the hall, squinting against the bright lights with his arms crossed. There must be something they can do. Maybe his hands are in an adequate enough shape to try and dispel whatever sigil is on that door. Maybe…</p><p>“Ah, <em>Scheiß drauf</em>.”</p><p>He turns around to see Astrid walking briskly towards him. Before he can ask what happened, she takes him by an elbow and drags him to the other end of the corridor. “Take cover,” she says, turning towards the door. “I’m going to try something, and you don’t want to be in the shock wave of that.”</p><p>“What are you…”</p><p>Essek’s sentence is cut off by Astrid’s muttered incantation, which coalesces between her hands as a tiny spot of light. Her eyes stay closed, but his follow the mote as it darts to the other end of the corridor.</p><p>He barely has time to close his eyes before the mote reaches its target and explodes in a flaming inferno. It’s too late to look for cover, and for a moment he feels an impossible heat on his face and arms.</p><p>When he dares to look up again, Astrid is lowering the arm that was covering her face. She’s unscathed as well.</p><p>And so, it seems, is the door.</p><p>It takes a moment for Essek to find his voice again, and when he does he still struggles for the words to express his astonishment. “You,” he gasps. “You just cast a fireball at that door.”</p><p>Astrid shrugs, but he can see her hands are shaking. “It could have worked. Have you got a better idea?”</p><p>“Yes, several!” It’s been a while since the last time Essek got to have the high ground over someone. He wishes he could savour it. “I would have tried to dispel whatever’s on it in a minute.”</p><p>“Well, we don’t know if we have a minute.” She walks towards the door before Essek can point out that <em>she</em> was the one lying on the floor while he made the same argument, and all he can do is to run after her.</p>
<hr/><p>Astrid’s voice breaks the silence that settled between them after all the discussions and the useless spells. “You’re doing this for him, <em>ja</em>?”</p><p>Essek turns to look at her where she’s sitting, tormenting the cuffs of her shirt with a deep scowl. Their backs are against the same wall, but while he’s ramrod straight and biting at his lower lip, trying to think of another way to try and open the door, she’s slumped, with a leg bent under her and her shoulders drooping.</p><p>“I’m doing it for them. I’m in their debt,” he says, turning his head back towards the door.</p><p>They tried everything they had, but to no avail. Essek was hesitant to waste his higher level spells in case one of their tricks worked and they would face more danger on the other side, but the door just ate his magic and didn’t budge. As for Astrid, she hasn’t told him in so many words, but he doesn’t think she has any power left in her for today.</p><p>“I saw how he looked at you,” she goes on, squashing Essek’s hopes that she would drop the subject. “I used to be on the other end of that look.”</p><p>Essek’s ears perk up instinctively at that, but he quickly schools his demeanour back into neutrality. Whatever existed between Caleb and this woman, whatever the reason he couldn’t bring himself to hurt her earlier, he doesn’t want to know. He knows his jealousy is misplaced, but it leaves a sour taste in his mouth nonetheless. Maybe, if he pretends he can’t hear her, she would finally shut up.</p><p>Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t work. “You must understand that I would do anything for him.” Astrid’s voice is low but intense. Essek can almost feel the fire crackling underneath the surface. “I would sacrifice anything. I know he’s not mine,” she adds, even quieter, “not anymore. But I would still do it. I understand debts as well, Herr Shadowhand.”</p><p><em>I’m not the Shadowhand anymore.</em> Essek doesn’t correct her. “And I understand sacrifice, Astrid,” he murmurs.</p><p>A hand grabs his forearm, and his head whips towards her. The look in Astrid’s eyes is feverish. “But are you ready? Trent is after him. This is personal. It’s not going to be over until one of them kills the other.” Her grip is so strong that she’s hurting him, but he doesn’t say anything. “Are you ready to look in his lifeless eyes and sacrifice what you hold dearest to bring him back?”</p><p><em>I won’t let it come to that</em>, he wants to say, but as the full weight of Astrid’s words settle on him, he feels like he’s suffocating. He has no power to avoid that possible ending, does he? He and Astrid are not the heroes of this story. They are side characters, stuck outside a magically sealed door, waiting for the end to come.</p><p>Even so, if Astrid’s prediction came through, if he ended up staring into the lifeless eyes of the man he loves, would he sacrifice what little he has for a chance to bring him back?</p><p>For a moment, he feels so lightheaded that it’s a good thing he’s leaning against a wall. But it’s not doubt or pain he’s feeling: it’s relief.</p><p>Because the answer is yes, an unwavering, inexorable yes, and he can almost feel the last tie that bound him to his old life snap under the pressure of that certainty.</p><p>He looks Astrid in the eyes. “Are you?”</p><p>She looks at him for a long time, taking in the serene confidence behind his tired, bloodstained countenance. “I’m afraid nothing I have would be enough.” Her expression remains stoic even as a single tear runs down her face.</p><p>In her shoes, he knows he wouldn’t like empty words of comfort. So, as he looks away once more, he just lets his hand fall on the one still gripping his arm, letting its silent, comforting weight speak for itself.</p>
<hr/><p>“Are you going to stay?” he asks.</p><p>It’s been minutes, or hours, he has no way of telling. They’ve been sitting side by side without moving, giving up the pretence of being useful at all, just waiting for something to happen. Their hands are joined on the cool marble floor. Neither of them has mentioned it yet, nor has tried to pull away.</p><p>The silence stretches for so long he’s starting to think she won’t answer. Then he hears a sigh coming from his left. “I don’t think they’ll ask me to.”</p><p>“They will,” Essek replies immediately, then he amends, “Some of them, at least.” <em>They’ll want us to stay. They’ll extend the same hand to you and me.</em> He needs to believe it.</p><p>With her free arm around her knees and her head leaning on them, Astrid sighs. “Do you think it matters if we regret it? If we regret everything?” She lifts her hand and stares, as if she could see all the blood that stains it. “Does that make one worthy of forgiveness?”</p><p>Essek knows those questions and where they lead. “I don’t know.” He squeezes her hand, just once. “But I’m not going to let that stop me from trying.”</p><p>She’s about to reply when there’s a noise beside them. The lamps in the corridor suddenly dim, and they both sit up, straightening their backs and letting go of each other as they try to understand what’s happening.</p><p>The door rattles again.</p><p>They leap to their feet, ready to face whatever may be on the other side, two magic-less mages with more broken parts than whole ones.</p><p>Essek curses inwardly. They could have used the wait to put together a strategy, instead of feeling sorry for themselves. <em>Add that to the pile of regrets, Thelyss</em>, he thinks bitterly.<em> Your last words may have been uttered to comfort an Empire assassin.</em></p><p>But, when he turns towards Astrid, all he sees is a young, scared human, waiting to find out if these are the last moments of her short life. Her doubts and fears have so much in common with his that the words <em>like looking in a mirror </em>come to his mind. All in all, there are worse people to find himself staring down death with.</p><p>The left panel of the door opens with a click, and the first one through it is a halfling who stumbles on the floor, balancing herself at the last moment. “I told you it would be child’s play,” she says to someone behind her.</p><p>Before he can say anything, Veth notices the two people standing in front of her and screams, scrambling for her crossbow.</p><p>“Hey, easy.” Astrid raises her hands, then lowers them again when Veth screams and lifts her crossbow. “I’m me again.”</p><p>“Prove it!” yells the halfling, without lowering the crossbow.</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, Essek sees Astrid shrug. “I haven’t killed you yet.”</p><p>Veth’s eyes dart from her to Essek. She doesn’t look surprised to see him, and he shrugs as well. “She hasn’t killed me yet, either.”</p><p>Eventually, the halfling lowers her crossbow. “Okay, that’s fair. Guys! You can come through.”</p><p>She hasn’t finished the sentence yet before a blue blur runs through the door, out of breath and with blood stained clothes. “Oh, my gosh, Astrid, are you okay?” She gasps when he notices Essek. “<em>Essek?</em> What are you doing here?”</p><p>Before he can answer, his breath is knocked out of him by Jester’s bone-crushing hug. When she looks up at him, without letting go, he notices a scratch on her cheek. “I’m so happy to see you!”</p><p>“And I am as well,” he says truthfully. As soon as he’s finally free, Essek frowns and brushes against her cheekbone with a knuckle, not quite touching the scratch. There’s blood on her face and her clothes are singed and bloodied as well. “Jester, are you hurt?”</p><p>She smiles, showing her fangs. “Oh, this? It’s not my blood. Not all of it, at least.”</p><p>One by one, the rest of the Nein walk through the door, and Essek heart soars at each beloved face he sees.</p><p>And then it stops.</p><p>Because he doesn’t see the face he’s looking for the most.</p><p>And Yasha is carrying someone in her arms.</p><p>People are talking around him and to him, but he only hears a distant buzz. All he can do is look, to make sure that this is really what it seems: but how can he be wrong, when there’s no way he wouldn’t recognise the long, graceful hand that sways limp as Yasha turns around, or the head of red-brown hair that Jester cradles as they lay him on the floor?</p><p>Astrid’s words ring in his ears. <em>Are you ready to sacrifice your most precious possession to bring him back? </em></p><p>Astrid. He wants to look at her, but there isn’t enough time. As the clerics gather everyone around — those with bloody, bruised limbs, and gashes and wounds that can be healed — Essek raises a hand and twists his fingers in a practised, simple motion. His joints are so stiff and he’s shaking so much that he has to try three times before he manages to take what he’s looking for out of his pocket dimension.</p><p>Jester looks at him in confusion when he kneels down near her and presses his spellbook in her hands. “Please, take it. I don’t know how it works, I don’t know how <em>any </em>of it works, but… if there’s even a small chance this could bring him back, take it.” He swallows. He doesn’t want to look at Caleb’s body, but it — <em>he</em>, not <em>it </em>— he has an inescapable gravity that pulls his eyes in that direction. Essek looks away immediately. “I— don’t know if it will be enough, but I beg you to try. If he—”</p><p>His sentence is cut off by Jester’s crystalline laugh. He blinks at her, and she laughs some more at his confusion. But it’s a joyous laugh, not a cruel one, and it ends in a sob. He sees there are tears in her eyes a moment before she pulls him in a stilted sideways hug. “You are so stupid,” she says against his chest. “You are both <em>so </em>stupid.”</p><p>Too puzzled to move, Essek endures the hug stiffly. His spellbook is wedged between them, its metallic corners digging between his ribs. “I don’t understand.”</p><p>She pulls back, casually wiping snot from her nose on a sleeve. “He’ll be alright, Essek. He’s not dead, just unconscious. We gave him a potion earlier and Cad is already healing him. He’ll be fine.”</p><p>Essek turns towards Caduceus, who’s kneeling not far away with perfect posture, murmuring a healing spell that unfolds like prayer beads from his lips. Then he looks down at Caleb, he really looks at him for the first time since the human reappeared from whatever happened beyond that door. His eyes are closed and his cheeks are pale, but not unnaturally so. When, after a short hesitation, Essek delicately touches his throat, there’s a faint pulse underneath.</p><p>Essek’s exhale is shaky as he pulls Caleb’s hair out of his forehead, leaving a smudged trail of blood and soot behind. His skin is warm, and Essek doesn’t notice he’s crying until a tear falls on Caleb’s face.</p><p><em>He’s not dead. </em>He keeps hearing Jester’s words, again and again. <em>He’s alive. He’ll be alright. He’s alive.</em></p><p>He wordlessly takes his spellbook back, holding it close to his chest, feeling his cheeks flush. “I’m very relieved to hear it,” he tells Jester. “Let’s never speak of this again.”</p><p>“That was <em>so </em>romantic, Essek. Does it mean you’re married now? Is this how it works for wizards?”</p><p>He wonders if it’s possible to die of mortification. “Jester, please.”</p><p>She looks at him with a smile that almost blinds him, then runs her hands on her face. “Gosh, <em>fuck</em>, I’m so tired I could sleep forever.” She casually leans against him, threading her arms under his and resting her head on his shoulder with a long, loud yawn. “Wake me up when Caduceus is done, alright?”</p><p>It seems that all the questions Essek has — what went down behind the door, how did they deal with the Cerberus mages, what exactly happened to Caleb — will have to wait. As he finds a more comfortable position while trying not to jostle Jester too much, his eyes travel towards a lonely figure at the fringes of the group.</p><p>Astrid is looking at them all, something intense on her face that’s not quite hope but not just pain. No, not at them all: she’s staring at the focal point of Essek’s attention until a moment ago. As he’s looking at her, she tears her gaze away from Caleb and makes eye contact with him.</p><p>They have a whole unspoken conversation with that look. Perhaps they understand each other better than anyone ever can, but they’re not at the same point in their journey. They both know she can’t stay, not yet.</p><p>When she quietly turns and walks away, vanishing down the corridor and through a door without saying goodbye, Essek knows that this is the only way it could go. He also knows she’ll be back, one day, if it’s in her power to do so. He knows how this particular story goes.</p>
<hr/><p>“What happened to your hands?”</p><p>The question wakes Essek up from his trance. He opens his eyes and turns towards the bed where Caleb isn’t sleeping anymore.</p><p>They’re once again in Jester’s mother’s house, in a room she has graciously given them. It’s not the same one as last time; that would have been a little too much irony for Essek’s comfort, for this story to end, one way or the other, the way it began. It’s not twilight either, but a light, warm morning wind brings the same scent of jasmine inside.</p><p>He winces at the pain in his neck. The stuffed chair is not uncomfortable, but he’s been sitting in it since they arrived in Nicodranas the night before. He’s been keeping watch over Caleb’s sleeping body alone for the last couple of hours, since he finally convinced Veth to get some sleep of her own. According to the clerics, Caleb would need all the sleep he could get, and Essek finally managed to get his maelstrom of thoughts and worries under control to enter a restless trance, from which he’s grateful to be woken up.</p><p>“What do you mean?” he asks, while examining Caleb’s face. The man looks tired and drowsy, but most of all he looks alive. His eyes are bright and piercing as always, and Essek is so glad to be under their scrutiny again.</p><p>“When you cast that spell, after you appeared in the corridor. I noticed…” Caleb tries to sit up but winces, holding his head with both hands as if trying to stop it from splitting. His friends stripped him down to his underclothes before putting him to bed, so Essek instinctively looks away. He knows he’s being irrational, but he doesn’t want to assume they’re past that point, that Caleb is comfortable with him being there when he’s almost naked and vulnerable and in pain.</p><p>He reaches for a mug on the bedside table. “Here. Caduceus said you might wake up with a headache. You might have to heat this up, though.” He holds onto the mug until Caleb’s grip is sure.</p><p>Caleb takes a breath and focuses, and steam starts lifting from the cup a minute later. “Your hands,” he says in the meantime, undeterred. “What happened to them?”</p><p>Essek turns his palms upwards on his thighs, even if there’s nothing to see. He’s still wearing the clothes the Clays gave him, except for the gauzy surcoat, which was beyond saving. But the Nicodranian weather is even milder than the Grove’s, and he doesn’t need layers. “They were… damaged by the time I spent unconscious in the snow. They’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”</p><p>While he’s talking, Caleb takes a long sip and grimaces. He puts the mug down on the table and, even if Essek isn’t looking at him, the scowl in his voice is audible when he says, “Of course I do. Let me see.”</p><p>A sigh of frustration. “Caleb.” <em>You’re the one who almost died</em>, Essek doesn’t say.</p><p>He finally gives up when Caleb’s own outstretched hands enter his field of vision, and when Essek finally makes eye contact, he sees Caleb staring at him with a look of stubborn patience. He holds his breath and he finally allows Caleb to take his hands.</p><p>He examines them with a scholarly care that reminds Essek of how he handles books and spell components. There’s nothing to see, and they both know it, but Essek lets Caleb’s rough fingers run on his skin. Essek’s hands don’t have calluses or scars: the wounds they carry are deeper and invisible, and maybe those are the ones Caleb is trying to find and soothe.</p><p>“I heard what you said,” Caleb says abruptly. “While I was unconscious, I could still hear all of you for a time. I’m not sure I haven’t dreamed parts of it, so forgive me if that’s the case, but… You were ready to give your spellbook away for… for me.” He can read Essek’s expression well enough to have his answer. It wasn’t a dream. “Why?”</p><p>Caleb doesn’t try to stop him when Essek takes his hands back, but he keeps staring at him, and Essek is incapable of looking away.</p><p>The truth is, he hasn’t stopped thinking about it, during the long hours when all he had to do was to sit beside Caleb and worry. There was no hesitation. He spent days, weeks in the Grove grieving the possible loss of his magic when his hands were injured, and yet there was no hesitation in him at the prospect of starting again from scratch, if there was a possibility that giving up his magic would bring Caleb back.</p><p><em>It would have been worth it. </em>“I owed you that much,” he says eventually.</p><p>To his dismay, Caleb looks disappointed. “So you did it out of guilt.”</p><p>Running his hands through his hair and on his face, ignoring the cramps, Essek lets out an exasperated sigh. “Does it really matter?” He lets his hands fall on the covers, doing his best to hold Caleb’s gaze despite its intensity.</p><p>“Yes, it does.” Caleb reaches out, slowly, and when Essek doesn’t pull back he takes his hands once again. He doesn’t pretend to study them this time, he just holds them.</p><p>This is too much. There’s nothing safe for Essek to look at, so he closes his eyes.</p><p>“They came after you because we cared about you,” Caleb says in a soft voice. “Because <em>I </em>cared about you. I will never forgive myself for putting you in danger, for hurting you.”</p><p>“You are not… It wasn’t your fault. If I—” Essek opens his eyes and immediately forgets what he was going to say. Caleb’s expression is so honest and raw, and Essek can’t help but notice how odd it is to see his own feelings reflected in the lines on Caleb’s forehead, in the grim set of his jaw.</p><p>Essek looks down at their joined hands, wondering how much he can say. And then he thinks about the time he almost died, and the time Caleb almost died, and in a moment of sudden clarity — or maybe it’s just recklessness — he wonders for what reason he’s holding back anymore. “Caleb, you must know I have been in love with you since the last time we met in Nicodranas.” He laughs. He sounds a little unhinged, but he doesn’t care. “No, that’s when I realised. It’s been much longer. So don’t tell me things like that. Not when you know how much they hurt.”</p><p>He feels cold when Caleb lets go of him, but then his hands — his lovely hands — rest on either side of Essek’s head, forcing it up with excruciating gentleness and care, until they make eye contact.</p><p>“Essek, how do you think <em>I </em>am feeling?”</p><p>He doesn’t know. “I don’t know,” he says, barely whispering.</p><p>This time, it’s Caleb who leans forward and presses his lips on Essek’s. It’s a delicate, soft thing, and Essek is afraid to breathe in case it gets startled and flutters away. He covers Caleb’s hands with his own, tentative and hesitant, and almost gasps when Caleb leans into him, cradling his head, fingers threading through the hair at the base of his skull to deepen the kiss. It’s similar to the other kisses they traded on that distant, warm night in a room not far from this one, and yet so different, as it lacks the desperation and is filled with softness instead. It tastes less like the last wish of a dying man and more like the promise of a new beginning.</p><p>When Caleb pulls back, Essek wraps his fingers around his wrists, refusing to let him go, even if Caleb doesn’t seem to want to go anywhere.</p><p>“Is it clearer now?” Caleb asks with a small smile.</p><p>And it proves to be a new beginning, after all, after they talk some more, and they rest, and they heal; as they take care of their family and are taken care of by them in return, as they attempt to right the wrongs that are still present in both their homes, and try to learn a new, common language between them. It’s not effortless, but it’s worthwhile. Together they will fill the blank spaces between them with new possibilities and new realities.</p><p>But for the moment they are here, holding on to each other, and the silence between them doesn’t speak of an uncrossable distance, doesn’t bear the weight of secrets and hidden truths. It feels like trust and forgiveness. It feels like love.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is it, folks! I had no real plan for my first Shadowgast fic when I started out, but I had a lot of fun writing it. Turns out that having a lot of feelings for these characters &gt; planning.</p><p>If you enjoyed this, maybe check out my other CR fics, and/or come bother me on Tumblr @ <a href="https://mllekurtz.tumblr.com/">mllekurtz</a>!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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